
LILY MUNSELL RITCHIE 


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CHICKEN • LITTLE IAN E 





Until the ’Vtfater Ttfas <feppii^-**from noses and chins. 


Chicken Little Jane 


BY 

LILY MUNSELL RITCHIE 

>■* 



NEW YORK 


BRITTON PUBLISHING COMPANY 

CeWvj 



Copyright, 1918 

BRITTON PUBLISHING COMPANY, INC 


All Rights Reserved 



SEP 20 I9i8 ✓ 

-7*4 <SL. 


“To Olive F. Y. Dart the kind friend who first 
encouraged me to write , / gratefully dedicate my 
first hook ” 





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CHAPTER PAGE 

I Alice and the Siege of Acre 1 1 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I Alice and the Siege of Acre 1 1 

II The Millinery Store 29 

III The Duck Creek Treasure 45 

IV Chicken Little Jane and Her Mother . 65 

V The Back-Yard Furnace 78 

VI The Wedding 91 

VII Chicken Little Jane and Dick Harding 

Play Providence 108 

VIII Christmas and the Day After . . . . 13 1 

IX Chicken Little Jane’s Gift 150 

X Skating 163 

XI Chicken Little Jane’s Birthday . . . 176 

XII Poor Ernest and Poor Marian .... 189 

XIII Forbidden Books and Candy Hearts . . 205 

XIV May Baskets 219 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

XV Thunder and Gooseberry Bushes . . . 234 

XVI Letters and a Surprise 249 

XVII Cousin May’s Party 260 

XVIII The Children Go Exploring . . . . 272 

XIX Things Happen 286 

XX Off to the Ranch 298 


LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


Until the water was dripping from noses and chins 

Frontispiece 
Facing Page 


By way of reply Katy opened the book and began . 20 
Wiping his eyes as the puffs came thicker .... 80 
“Give her this on the train and — please carry it 

carefully” 154 



* 


CHICKEN- LITTLE • IAhE 

••cJm H* ^ 






'Mi 


/?'•- QIAPTER. I 
ALICE-AND1HE- SIEGE 

OF -ACRE 


“Chicken Little! Chick-en Lit-tle!” 

The three little girls in the fence corner looked 
up but no one responded. 

“Chicken Little Jane!” The voice was a trifle 
more insistent. 

The little girl in the blue gingham dress and white 
frilled pinafore looked at her small hostess reproach- 
fully. 

“Why don’t you answer, Jane?” 

“ ’Cause I’ll have to go in. She’ll think I don’t 
hear if I keep still.” 

“Ja-ane! — I want you!” The voice was several 
notes higher and betrayed irritation. 

“She’s getting mad,” said the little girl in the pink 
dress and white frilled pinafore — sister to the blue 
dress. “You’d better go — she’s leaning out the win- 


12 Chicken Little Jane 

dow and she’ll see us in a minute.” Katy Halford 
was facing the house and her facts agreed with what 
Jane Morton knew of her mother’s ways. 

She got to her feet reluctantly. 

“Yes-m, I’m coming!” she yelled in a shrill treble. 
“You come, too, girls,” she added in a lower tone. 
“Maybe she won’t make me stay if I have company.” 

“All right — let’s tell her about Alice.” Katy 
jumped up quickly. 

Gertie Halford followed suit. 

The two small sisters were as like as possible in 
di css and as unlike in disposition. They were always 
immaculately starched and neat with their thick 
brown hair parted in front and braided into smooth 
tight braids ending in bows the exact shade of their 
dresses. These bows were a constant source of envy 
to Jane Morton, because they never seemed to drop 
off or hang by three hairs as her own invariably did. 

Gertie Halford was a gentle little mouse of a girl 
with soft hazel eyes, who loved pretty things and 
hated anything rough or boisterous. Her sister 
Katy’s gray eyes, on the contrary, were shrewd and 
keen, as was their small owner, who could be relied 
upon to take care of herself and have her own way 
on all occasions. The sisters were nine and eleven 
respectively, and Chicken Little not quite ten. 

Jane Morton or Chicken Little Jane, as she had 
been nicknamed while a toddler, because she was al- 


Alice and the Siege of Acre 13 

ways teasing for the story of “Chicken Little,” was 
usually described as all eyes. Her slim, active legs, 
however, were also a very important part of her 
anatomy. But her eyes easily held the center of the 
stage — big and brown and wondering, they had a 
way of looking at you as if you were the only per- 
son about. Her straight brown hair was swept back 
from her face by a round rubber comb and tied atop 
her head with a ribbon for further security. Despite 
these precautions, it usually looked as if it needed 
brushing. Her clothes, too, were prone to accidents 
because of her habit of roosting on picket fences or 
tree branches. Today, however, she was almost as 
spick and span as Katy and Gertie. She had just 
been through the painful process of cleaning up after 
dinner. 

The children burst into Mrs. Morton’s bedroom 
without the ceremony of knocking, too intent upon 
the news they had to tell, to inquire what Mrs. Mor- 
ton wanted. 

“Say, Mother,” Chicken Little began jerkily with 
what breath was left from running upstairs, “Alice 
says she used to live in this house when she was a 
little girl!” 

Mrs. Morton paused in adjusting the folds of 
black lace around her plump shoulders and stared at 
her small daughter in astonishment. 

“Alice — in this house — a servant-girl — nonsense! 


Chicken Little Jane 


H 

Dear me, I hope she isn’t untruthful; she seemed so 
promising.” 

“But she says her father used to own this house 
— she says they weren’t always poor, and she never 
’spected to have to be a hired girl. Yes, and Katy 
says she remembers when the Fletchers lived here 
and they used to have a lot of company — didn’t 
you, Katy?” Katy nodded importantly. 

“Yes, Ma-am, my mother says it’s a shame Alice 
has to go out to work. She says it would break her 
mother’s heart, only she’s dead and doesn’t know 
it.” 

“And her father’s dead, too,” broke in Gertie 
anxious to add her quota, “but she’s got an uncle and 
aunt that ain’t dead — they live a long way off in Cin- 
cinnati, but they’re so stuck up they won’t do any- 
thing for Alice.” 

“Well, never mind now, I’ll investigate this some 
other time,” Mrs. Morton replied absently, still 
fussing with her lace. Tiny beads of perspiration 
were standing out on her flushed face — she kept 
dabbing them away with her handkerchief. 

It was a hot day for late September and Mrs. 
Morton found tight corsets and a close-fitting silk 
dress trials to Christian fortitude. But she was a 
resolute, dignified lady who knew her duty to her 
church and to society and did it, regardless of her 
own comfort or her family’s. 


15 


Alice and the Siege of Acre 

“But, Mother, aren’t you sorry for Alice?” 

“My dear, I didn’t call you in to talk about Alice. 
I want you to play quietly with your dolls this after- 
noon like little ladies. Remember to keep your 
dress clean, Chicken Little, you have to wear it again 
to-morrow afternoon. I don’t want to come home 
and find it all stained and torn off the belt as I did 
yesterday. And don’t forget to be polite to your 
guests. Kiss me good-by now, and run along.” 

The children, a little disappointed over the meager 
effect of their sensation, obediently filed out. 

They collected the dolls and ensconced themselves 
under a spreading maple in the fence corner to play 
house, but dolls somehow seemed tame. 

“I thought she’d be more s’prised,” ventured Katy 
after a few moments, as the trio watched Mrs. Mor- 
ton sweep down the front walk to the gate, the shim- 
mering folds of her gray silk dragging behind her. 

“My, I wish I had such a grand dress,” said 
Gertie, changing the subject. 

“Your mother’s got a lot of dresses, hasn’t she?” 

“Yes, heaps, but I don’t want any old silk dresses. 
I hate to be dressed up, you can’t climb trees or noth- 
ing, and your mother always tells you to be a little 
lady. Bet I won’t be a little lady when I grow up.” 

“Why, Chicken Little Jane, you’ll have to be!” 

“Sha’n’t either — Mother says I’m the worst tom- 
boy she ever saw and I’ll disgrace my family if I 


16 Chicken Little Jane 

don’t look out. I don’t care if I do — I think it’s 
fun to be something different. Maybe I’ll be a cir- 
cus-rider.” Jane swung her unfortunate doll about 
by one arm to emphasize her decision, and smiled de- 
fiantly. 

Katy refused to be impressed. 

“Pooh, you never saw a circus-rider — you said 
yesterday your mother’d never let you go to a circus. 
I’ve been to six, counting the one Uncle Sim took us 
to in the evening.” 

“I don’t care, I’ve been to see the animals — and 
I just guess I did see circus-riders, too, in the 
parade !” 

“Well, you’d have to dress up if you were a circus- 
rider ’cause they have lots of fussy skirts and 
spangles and things — only they aren’t very clean 
most always. I saw one close to once. I’d rather 
have a lace shawl and a beautiful watch like your 
mother’s,” put in Gertie. 

“I don’t care, I like horses and I just hate dolls 
they’re so pokey,” retorted Jane recklessly, rather 
floored by so much wisdom. “Let’s play our chil- 
dren are all taking a nap and go and get Ernest and 
do something lively.” 

Katy pricked up her ears at the mention of 
Ernest’s name, having no brothers herself, she con- 
sidered boys extremely interesting. She promptly 
threw her cherished Rowena under a heap of doll 


Alice and the Siege of Acre 17 

clothes, and was on her feet in an instant calling, 
“Come on.” 

Gentle little Gertie eyed her half undressed doll 
child ruefully. 

“ ’Tisn’t nice to leave them this way. You girls 
go on and I’ll put Minnie’s nighty on and tuck her 
in.” 

Chicken Little shoved both doll and doll clothes 
unceremoniously into the fence corner and was after 
Katy in a flash. Gertie lingered not only to tuck 
away her own doll but to rescue the neglected play- 
things of the others, and to put each doll child care- 
fully to bed, with sundry croonings and caresses. 
Then she followed slowly to the house. 

Katy and Jane were already having troubles of 
their own. Ernest, who was four years older than 
Jane, was deep in a book and deaf to all coaxing and 
persuasion on the part of his gypsy-sister and her 
friend. He was stretched on the floor in the em- 
brasure of the dormer window, nursing his face in 
his hands, his near-sighted eyes fairly boring into 
the pages. He was a lanky, sober-faced boy with a 
trick of twisting a lock of hair as he read that re- 
sulted in its perpetually hanging down in his eyes to 
his great annoyance. The boy liked to be ship-shape 
and he made manful attempts to let it alone. He 
plastered it down with bay-rum till the family begged 
for mercy from the smell. It was even on record 


18 Chicken Little Jane 

that he once went so far as to dab it with glue with 
painful consequences. 

Today he was so absorbed that he had almost 
twisted the offending lock into a double bowknot 
and he heeded the children no more than flies. Fi- 
nally Katy audaciously grabbed his book away, and 
he came to life with a growl. 

“Here, drop that, infant, give me that book!” 

He raised up on his elbow threateningly, but 
Katy, shaking her head saucily, flew out the door and 
down the staircase in a flutter of delicious fear. 

Ernest got to his feet blusteringly. 

“Mother said you kids were to keep out of my 
room and you can just go get that book for me or I’ll 
tell her when she comes home.” 

He made a grab for his sister’s arm, but she eluded 
him skilfully and darted after Katy, chanting ma- 
liciously : “Get it yourself — get it yourself — old cross 
patch!” 

An exciting chase followed. Ernest tearing out 
the front door almost knocked over Gertie who was 
just coming in. He quickly righted her with a smile 
— he was fond of little Gertie who never bothered. 
The momentary delay gave the girls a start and 
Ernest saw Katy’s flying skirts disappearing round 
the kitchen ell, with Chicken Little close behind her, 
as he turned the corner of the house. 

Once at the back he found Chicken Little had 


Alice and the Siege of Acre 19 

sought sanctuary with Alice, the maid, who was sit- 
ting under a tree peeling peaches, but Katy had van- 
ished. 

“Which way’d she go, Alice?” Alice shook her 
head teasingly, at the same time glancing toward 
the kitchen door. 

Ernest bolted in, but a swift search of the house 
revealed no Katy. Jane still clung to Alice clapping 
her hands derisively. 

“Has she gone home?” he demanded. 

Chicken Little shook her head. 

“Am I hot or cold?” 

“Hot! My, you’re just burning!” 

Gertie, who had followed, stared up into the 
branches overhead, but Ernest, gazing after, caught 
no glimpse of Katy’s pink gingham or mischievous 
face. 

“Bet you can’t find her,” jeered Jane; “boys 
aren’t smart as girls if they are so stuck on them- 
selves.” 

“Bet Alice hid her.” 

“Bet she didn’t.” 

At this moment a whistle at the side gate inter- 
rupted them. Ernest trilled in answer and a moment 
later Carol Brown and Sherman Dart, Ernest’s two 
sworn cronies, came round the corner with a whoop. 

“You smarties can have the old book. Mother’ll 
make you give it back to-night, anyway.” 


20 


Chicken Little Jane 


A chuckle overhead punctuated his sentence, and 
some fifteen feet above him, seated gracefully astride 
the comb of the low roof, Katy waved the book at 
him tantalizingly. 

“Gee, how’d you get up there?” 

By way of reply Katy opened the book at random 
and began to read: 

“The third crusade which had opened so disas- 
trously, was at last to be prosecuted with vigor. 
The eight days’ truce was over and Philip of France 
again led the assault upon the walls of Acre. King 
Richard slowly convalescing was borne to the scene 
of conflict where ” 

Here the boys interrupted with cat calls, and Er- 
nest shied a green apple which Katy successfully 
dodged. 

“How’d you get up?” 

“For me to know and you to find out.” 

“Say, Alice, how’d she get up?” 

“Climbed.” 

“Oh, say, honest how did she?” 

“The same way that Philip and Richard got into 
Acre.” 

“Ladder?” 

“Yes, the man who fixed the eave troughs this 
morning left a ladder here. It’s on the other 
side.” 

The three boys made a bolt to investigate and 



Bry Ttfciy oP reply openedtfhe bcalei-cmcl begem. 



























4 



















































Alice and the Siege of Acre 21 

soon swarmed up on the roof with Jane close be- 
hind. 

The old white house with its big front porch and 
green blinds was a notable one. Built upon a ter- 
race, it stood several feet above the tree-shaded 
lawns about it. A group of old apple trees crowded 
close up to the windows at the side and rear. Both 
the western and southern gables were overhung with 
great wistaria vines, so old the stems were like huge 
cables and could easily bear a man’s weight, as the 
children’s grown brother Frank had already discov- 
ered. He had been locked out one night, and wish- 
ing to get in without disturbing the family, had 
quietly gone up the vines, hand-over-hand, to his 
own window. 

The old house boasted many gables and more 
dormer windows, each bedroom having one or 
more. The children found these little nooks cosy 
places to play and read, indeed only a little less 
fascinating than the great rambling closets which 
were only partly enclosed and seemed to end, no one 
knew where, off under the roof. They had never 
been able to fully explore these — indeed their mother 
had not encouraged such voyages of discovery, be- 
cause there were sundry narrow places, dark and 
dusty, where wriggling through in snake-fashion 
wrought havoc with their clothes. 

The children were on the roof of the low kitchen, 


22 


Chicken Little Jane 


a kitchen that had apparently been an afterthought, 
for theiroof sloped both ways like an inverted V and 
had no connection with the main roof. 

“I tell you what, boys,” said Ernest after they 
had explored it to their satisfaction, “let’s play the 
‘Siege of Acre.’ We could use this roof for the 
tower.” 

“Aren’t enough of us!” objected Carol, a big, 
handsome boy with tight blond curls who was in- 
clined to be lazy. 

“Can’t we play, too?” put in Chicken Little. 

“Shucks, girls don’t know how to fight.” 

“Don’t be too sure of that,” said Alice. “We 
girls used to play all sorts of games when I was a 
child.” 

“We’ll have to divide up some way,” said Sherm. 
“Ernest, let’s you and me be Richard and Philip, 
and Carol can be the sultan and defend the place. 
And we could have the girls up here for the 
sultan’s wives — he had a lot — they’d be out of 
the way.” 

“Not on your life,” grunted Carol, disgusted at 
having all the girls put in his charge. 

“It won’t be bad, Carol, the garrison’ll have to 
have a lot of provisions, and I’ll give you some ap- 
ples and cookies if you’ll let the little girls play,” 
Alice interposed tactfully. 

“Cricky, Alice, you’re a brick!” 


Alice and the Siege of Acre 23 

“Gee, Alice, wish you lived at our house !” Carol 
and Sherm exclaimed in unison. 

Alice Fletcher, a sturdy, intelligent-looking girl 
of twenty, was pleased at the boy’s praise. 
“Thanks, my lords!” she replied, waving a peeling 
at them. 

“Oh, well, I don’t care if the girls’ll keep out of 
the way,” conceded Carol. 

“Gertie can be the wives and me and Jane will 
be the soldiers. Carol will need somebody to help 
him,” said ambitious Katy. 

The preliminaries were soon arranged. Timid 
Gertie was safely stowed away where she could hold 
to the chimney if a sudden panic seized her, and the 
boys graciously posted Jane and Katy on the bat- 
tlements, otherwise known as the comb of the roof, 
to man the engines and spy out the landscape. They 
kicked off their shoes, the better to cling, and pranced 
around stocking-footed regardless of possible pa- 
rental displeasure. 

Ernest and Sherman were just preparing to rush 
up the ladder armed with villainous-looking battle- 
axes made out of old lath, when Alice halted 
them. 

“But you’ll have to decide how to take the tower. 
If Carol tries to keep you off and knocks over the 
ladder you’ll get hurt. Suppose you give him a 
switch and if he can touch you before you can get 


Chicken Little Jane 


24 

•within two rounds of the top, you’re dead, but if you 
can touch him, he’ll have to surrender.” 

The opposing forces parleyed. The scaling party 
was rather dubious about tackling the sultan with 
only one scaling ladder, but they finally compromised 
on very short switches, so short in fact that Alice 
was worried lest the sultan should promptly take a 
header off the roof in his efforts to repel the in- 
vaders. 

The attack began merrily. The boys swarmed up 
the ladder with blood-curdling yells of “Richard for 
England!” from Ernest and shriller cries of 
“France! France!” from Sherm, whose voice always 
trailed off into high C when he got excited. 

The “sultan’s wives” hugged the chimney in her 
excitement and Captain Jane promptly deserted the 
battlements and slid down to reinforce the sultan 
who certainly looked lonesome. There was much 
ducking and dodging and great flourishing of 
switches to the imminent risk of all concerned, for 
Chicken Little came down full force against the sul- 
tan in her frantic efforts to help, and Ernest, alias 
Richard, stepped on the King of France’s royal fin- 
gers when forced to retreat from the sultan’s spear. 

It soon became apparent that the advantage lay 
with the defenders of Acre. The besieging mon- 
archs withdrew down the ladder to hold a council of 
war, while the sultan’s wives and troops — it was dif- 


Alice and the Siege of Acre 25 

ficult to distinguish them — crowed triumphantly. 
They even did a little undignified taunting of the 
discomfited enemy. 

Alice had been cheering the besiegers and now 
joined their counsels. After some whispering they 
divided forces, and King Richard climbed up the 
old apple tree at the corner of the house while King 
Philip led his forces up the scaling ladder again. 

The sultan was at his wit’s end, but finally left 
Captain Jane in command at the head of the ladder 
while he tried to repulse this flank movement. Cap- 
tain Jane fought valiantly, and once more France 
was driven back. The sultan was equally success- 
ful. The cause of the Crusaders began to look dark, 
when suddenly the sultan detecting Captain Katy in 
the act of munching the cherished provisions, pro- 
posed a ten-minute truce, but the invaders with their 
weather eye on the self-same goodies, haughtily de- 
clined. 

Again they whispered. Suddenly Alice clapped 
her hands and hurriedly explained. Immediately 
King Philip once more planted his scaling ladder, 
but his ally disappeared around the house. 

The sultan sent his aide over to the other side 
of the roof to scout, but King Richard continued 
his march around the house and was soon hidden 
from the observers on the kitchen roof, by the angle 
of the main house. 


26 


Chicken Little Jane 


Presently queer rasping noises were heard. The 
besieged craned their necks to see what was going 
on. The sultan became so curious and apprehen- 
sive about his rear that he almost let the King of 
France get up the ladder. The ominous sounds con- 
tinued, bumping, scraping, tapping, punctuated by 
sundry exclamations and advice to “Be careful!” 
from Alice, who had followed the English 
forces. 

Philip of France, so interested in the efforts of his 
British allies, forgot to attack and had several nar- 
row escapes from being captured himself. 

Finally, after one prolonged scrape accompanied 
by several grunts, the sturdy figure of Rich- 
ard towered an instant on the roof of the main 
house six feet above, then with a whoop of triumph, 
cautiously dropped down among them amid the 
shrieks of the defenders. 

Acre had fallen. 

The vanquished garrison pressed round him, not 
to demand mercy, but to ask questions. 

“How’d you get up there?” Chicken Little de- 
manded. 

“Bet Alice put you up to that,” this from Carol. 

“Should think you’d been scared to death !” whis- 
pered Gertie, still breathless with surprise. 

“Pshaw, ’twas easy — just shinned up that wis- 
taria vine on the gable, it’s awful old and strong. 


Alice and the Siege of Acre 27 

I’ve climbed heaps of times before, but I wouldn’t 
of thought of it, if Alice hadn’t told me.” 

“My, wisht I could climb it!” said Katy fairly 
awestruck with admiration at such daring. 

“Oh, you couldn’t — you’re just a girl, but I’ll 
show you where I got up,” said Ernest con- 
descendingly. “Say, where’s all the apples and 
cookies?” 

The hint was sufficient and both besieged and be- 
siegers, perched in various attitudes along the low 
roof like a flock of variegated chickens, were soon 
merrily celebrating the downfall of Acre. 

It was thus that Mrs. Morton found them, coming 
around the house a few moments later in search of 
her offspring. 

“Children! What are you doing?” she gasped 
in horrified tones. “Jane Morton, I thought I told 
you to play quietly. The idea of little girls climbing 
up on a roof. Put on your shoes this instant — all of 
you — and come down! Ernest, didn’t you know 
better than to let your little sister go into such a 
dangerous place?” 

Neither the valorous sultan, nor the doughty Cru- 
saders were proof against this onslaught, and the 
visitors speedily retreated homewards while their 
crestfallen host and hostess went to bed to think 
over their sins. Chicken Little indeed started to 
say something about Alice having let them, but 


28 


Chicken Little Jane 


stopped suddenly, warned by a dig in the ribs from 
Ernest’s elbow. 

While the more favored members of the family 
were at supper that night, and Ernest was tossing 
restlessly and wondering if they were having apple 
dumplings, a small, warm hand reached up beside 
the bed and touched him. 

“Hush, here’s your book, Ern, and here’s two 
slices of bread and jam, and some cheese and apple 

• ^ n 

pie. 

“Where in the Dickens did you ” 

“Somebody poked a plate with it on inside my 
door a minute ago. We’d better eat it quick.” 

Ernest needed no urging. 

“Do you suppose Frank brought it?” 

“No,” replied Chicken Little between mouthfuls, 
“I s’pose Alice.” 



^%X#CJ-IAPTEFL- II 
THE-MILLINEKX^TORE 

Chicken Little was seated on the end of the 
kitchen table swinging her legs and watching Alice 
make pies. 

“Look out — you’ll get your stockings black off 
the stove,” warned Alice lifting a pie from the 
oven. 

“I wisht I didn’t always have to wear white 
stockings — they’re such a nuisance.” 

“They are hard to keep clean. But the nice fam- 
ilies always make their children wear white, I notice. 
I don’t see why black wouldn’t look just as well with 
black shoes — especially for school.” 

“Grace Dart has two clean pairs every day. Did 
you wear white stockings when you were a little 
girl, Alice?” 

“In summer — in winter we had heavy knitted ones, 
29 



30 Chicken Little Jane 

red and white or blue and white striped. Mother 
used to knit them.” 

“Did your mother die when you were a weenty 
girl?” 

“No, I was fifteen when she went. Father died 
five years before. It was grieving about him, and 
the hard work and going hungry that killed mother 
before her time. She’d be living now if we’d had 
our rights.” 

Chicken Little puckered her brow for a moment 
trying to think this out. 

“What was the matter with the rights? Did 
somebody take them?” 

Alice laughed till she showed her dimples. 

“You funny dear ! Yes, took them away from us. 
I am afraid I can’t make you understand, Jane. It 
was our property — money and this house and some 
bank stock that we lost. My father went to the 
war and left all his business in the hands of his part- 
ner, a man named Gassett. Father fought in the 
war two years till he was badly wounded and had 
to come home. Some day I’ll show you a piece of 
a Confederate flag he helped capture. He was never 
himself again and Mr. Gassett ran everything. 
Father said just before he died that he was thank- 
ful he at least had the home and some bank stock 
to leave us — but he didn’t have even that it seems. 
We couldn’t find any bank stock certificates and Mr. 


The Millinery Store 31 

Gassett had a big mortgage on the house — so he got 
it, too. Mother said she was sure father had paid 
off that mortgage two years after he went into part- 
nership with Gassett — but, pshaw, you can’t under- 
stand all this !” 

“I can, too, I’m very quick. I heard mother 
tell Mrs. Halford so and she said I had the strong- 
est will she ever saw in a child !” Chicken Little was 
indignant. 

Alice smiled but went on fluting the edge of an 
apple pie with a fork. 

“Please tell me some more, Alice. Did your 
mother get awful hungry? Was that why you 
brought us some supper?” 

“How do you know I brought you any supper?” 

“ ’Cause. It was you — wasn’t it, Alice?” 

“Yes, Jane, and I expect your mother would be 
very angry with me if she knew. But I can’t bear 
to have anybody go hungry since mother — and I 
know how it feels myself — there’s Katy whistling, 
you’d better run along.” 

Katy’s smooth brown head appeared above the 
high board fence on her side of the alley that di- 
vided the Morton and Halford places. Chicken 
Little promptly mounted the top of their fence by 
the aid of a convenient wood pile. 

Few days passed in which the children did not 
visit across the alley. They were not permitted to 


Chicken Little Jane 


32 

go outside their own yards without leave, but no em- 
bargo had been placed upon the fences. So they 
sweetened the days when permission to visit was de- 
nied by consoling each other across the alley. The 
result of this conference sent Chicken Little scurry- 
ing in to her mother. 

Mrs. Morton sat by one of the long French win- 
dows with a small writing desk on her lap, busily 
writing a letter. 

“Um — n — yes — what did you say?” 

“May I have ten cents, Mother? We’re going 
to start a millinery store and you can get a lot of 
the loveliest little roses and forget-me-nots down 
to Mrs. Smith’s for ten cents. They fall off the 
wreaths you know. Grace Dart has promised to 
buy a hat and Katy’s Cousin Mary said maybe she 
would, and it’s Saturday and we can work all day — 
say, will you, Mother?” 

“Dear, dear, what’s all this? A millinery store? 
You and Katy and Gertie, I suppose. Well, I don’t 
know but that would be a nice way to help teach 
you to sew. You must comb your hair again 
and put on a clean white apron before you go 
downtown — and don’t go anywhere but Mrs. 
Smith’s. By the way, have you finished your 
practicing?” 

Chicken Little wriggled painfully before she re- 
luctantly shook her head. 


The Millinery Store 33 

“Well, do your hour first, then you may have the 
money.” 

“Oh, Mother, couldn’t I practice after dinner — 
the girls are waiting for me?” 

“Duty before pleasure, little daughter, go finish 
your hour and I’ll hunt up some bits of tulle and 
ribbon for you myself.” 

“Oh, will you, Mother? Goody, goody! May 
I go tell the girls? I’ll come straight back.” 

“Yes, but don’t get so excited. Little ladies 
should learn to be more composed — and don’t stand 
on one foot. Come here — the top button of your 
dress is unfastened.” Jane submitted to the button- 
ing process then flew off to tell the others, who were 
already setting up shop in the fence corner. 

“Oh, Jane,” they chorused the moment she came 
in sight, “mother gave us the loveliest yellow satin 
and some pink flowers and lace, too!” 

“Yes, and I found six chicken feathers that’ll be 
grand for turbans,” broke in Gertie. 

Chicken Little flung herself breathless upon the 
grass and explained between gasps. 

“If it wasn’t for that horrid practicing!” she fin- 
ished. 

“Never mind,” said Katy, “Gertie can be fixing 
the store and I’ll start right in on a hat. It’ll take 
a lot of work I tell you — we’re going to charge ten 
cents a hat.” 


Chicken Little Jane 


34 

Chicken Little started reluctantly back to the 
house and still more reluctantly settled down on the 
old green-velvet piano stool to practice. There was 
not much music in her soul, and sitting still at any- 
thing was torture. She squirmed even when she 
read, and her brother Frank said she got into sixty- 
nine different positions by actual count during the 
sermon one Sunday. He had made her a standing 
offer of ten cents whenever she could sit perfectly 
still for five minutes, but so far his money was safe. 

The moon-faced clock on the opposite wall ticked 
monotonously and Chicken Little’s small fingers 
thumped stiffly at the five-finger exercises while she 
painfully counted aloud, partly to get the time and 
partly for company. 

At the end of ten minutes she looked up at the 
clock in despair — surely it must have stopped ! But 
no, the big pendulum was swinging faithfully to 
and fro. She tried scales, then she went back to ex- 
ercises. She squirmed and wriggled and counted 
the big white medallions in the crimson body-brus- 
sels carpet. These medallions were her especial ad- 
miration, for each was bordered with elaborate curli- 
cues, and contained a gorgeous basket of woolen 
flowers, the like of which never bloomed in any 
garden, temperate or tropical. There were fifteen 
of these across the room and twenty-five length- 
wise. 


The Millinery Store 35 

The lace curtains were floral, too. She occupied 
five minutes trying for the hundredth time to decide, 
whether a delicate lace bloom with the circumfer- 
ence of a holly-hock was intended for a lily or a 
rose. The old steel engraving of General Wash- 
ington’s household hanging over the piano helped 
on a few moments more. The colored servant back 
of the general’s chair had a fascination for her even 
greater than Martha Washington’s mob cap and 
lace mitts. But, alas, even with the aid of these 
diversions she had only worried through twenty-five 
minutes. 

Then she had an inspiration. “Grimm’s Fairy 
Tales” lay on the sofa open face downward where 
she had left it half an hour before. She propped 
the book on the music rack and started in once more 
on the exercises. The exercises, however, refused 
to combine with reading — the discords were painful 
even to Jane’s ears so she tried scales which worked 
like a charm. Mechanically her hands rippled up 
and down the keys while her fancy fluttered off after 
“Snow White” and “Rose Red.” And the big clock 
was so neglected that it was five minutes past the 
hour before she thought to look at it again. 

“Finished your hour, Daughter? Did you prac- 
tice faithfully?” 

Chicken Little considered a moment before re- 
plying. 


36 Chicken Little Jane 

“I didn’t play the exercises much,” she said doubt- 
fully. 

“Well, you did the scales very nicely.” 

Again Chicken Little paused. 

Her conscience was pricking. On the chair be- 
side her mother was a glowing pile of odd ribbons 
and old artificial flowers and her mother’s kindness 
suddenly made the child realize that the Grimm 
hadn’t been quite fair — she did not like the feeling 
of not playing fair. She twisted the handle of the 
door trying to muster up courage to confess, but 
Mrs. Morton was in a hurry to finish her letters. 

“Run along now. Here are some things for you 
and here’s the dime. I am busy, dear.” 

And Chicken Little feeling that the Fates had 
excused her, flew off joyfully to join the girls. 

The fence corner was swept and garnished. An 
old lumber pile and several soap boxes had been 
pressed into service for shelves and counters and 
were artistically covered with an old lace curtain. 
Gertie was just putting a vase of real flowers on a 
table as a finishing touch, when Jane came up. 

“Um-m, isn’t that too sweet for anything, and 
see what I’ve got!” 

“Look at this! It’s most done,” Katy held up 
an adorable creation of white tulle and pink rose- 
buds which her nimble fingers had almost completed. 

She dispatched Gertie and Chicken Little to Mrs. 


The Millinery Store 37 

Smith’s for more flowers while she trimmed away 
industriously. It was a very happy Saturday. The 
fame of it spread throughout the neighborhood and 
the three little girls were kept busy snipping and 
fussing with the tiny headgear. Katy had natural 
style and taste and some of the little hats were really 
charming. 

The boys dropped over once or twice to see what 
was going on. Finally, they were so fired by this 
business enterprise that they started a lemonade 
stand just outside the front gate, having painfully 
secured a capital of five lemons by dint of much 
coaxing of mothers and maids. 

Their venture could hardly be called a success. 
They sold one glass for five cents, then Carol, who 
was always awkward, upset the whole pitcherful. 
The ice melted out of the second, and no cus- 
tomers appearing, the boys were drinking it up 
themselves, when Sherman gallantly proposed to 
treat the little girls. The supply was getting low 
by this time, but they carried over one rather skimpy 
and distressingly seedy glass to be divided among 
the three. 

The young ladies were too grateful for this unex- 
pected attention to be critical. Besides their ex- 
chequer was filling up beautifully. 

“How much did you make? We’ve got thirty 
cents already,” said Katy. 


38 Chicken Little Jane 

“Gee, how’d you make such a lot?” Sherm looked 
impressed. 

“Say, lend us a quarter, won’t you?” urged Carol. 

“Not much we won’t, but I’ll tell you. If you’ll 
take this hat down to Cousin May’s we’ll give you 
live cents, ’cause mother won’t let us go so far by 
ourselves. And I’m afraid she’ll change her mind 
about taking it if we wait till Monday at school.” 

The boys dickered a while and reckoned up the 
number of blocks their weary feet would have to 
travel. Carol insisted that seven cents was none 
too much for the effort, but Katy was a good busi- 
ness woman and was firm in sticking to her first 
offer. 

The lads finally agreed to take it on their way to 
the ball game, but this small errand raised a veri- 
table tempest in the little company before it was 
finally settled. 

The tiny package was carefully wrapped and the 
boys carried it with due respect and delivered it into 
May Allen’s hands. They duly pocketed not only 
the ten cents in payment but another as well, for 
May was so delighted with the hat and the elegant 
manner in which it had been delivered, that she sent 
an order, with payment in advance, for another bon- 
net. 

All would have been well but for the seductions of 
a certain ice-cream parlor where candy, apples and 


The Millinery Store 39 

cigars were temptingly displayed in a window, draped 
genteely with a fly-specked lace lambrequin. 

Sherman suggested they get a dime changed and 
expend their nickel for the sweets. Once inside, the 
sight of sundry acquaintances eating alluring pyra- 
mids of creamy coolness confronted them. The 
boys had been standing around at Brown’s field 
watching the ball game. It was hot and dusty and 
their mouths watered. Carol had ten cents of his 
own. By using their nickel and the remaining fif- 
teen cents they could each have a dish. Ernest hesi- 
tated about this borrowing, but the boys said they 
could pay it back. Ernest was sure he had that 
much in his toy bank at home, and the other boys 
were positive they could shake it through the slit 
if they tried hard enough. 

So the tempter won and the trust money was speed- 
ily converted into ice-cream. The ice-cream once 
down the transaction began to take on a differ- 
ent phase. The boys plodded home rather si- 
lently. 

Sherman voiced the first doubt. 

“Say, Ern, are you sure you’ve got enough?” 

Ern was wondering himself if he had. 

“I guess we’d better go in the side gate and get 
it out before the girls see us,” he replied. 

The boys slipped in the side gate in a manner so 
noiseless that it might almost be called sneaking. 


Chicken Little Jane 


40 

On up to Ernest’s room they filed and hastily se- 
cured the bank. 

Alas, no rattle of coin repaid them. Absent- 
minded Ernest had entirely forgotten that his father 
had taken the contents to the savings bank for him 
the preceding month, and that he had not been able 
to save up anything since. 

The boys looked at each other. 

“Maybe mother’ll lend me fifteen cents,” said Er- 
nest after a pause. 

A speedy search of the house revealed the sad 
fact that mother was not at home. 

The boys’ faces fell. They someway did not care 
to meet the little girls. Ernest twisted his scalp lock 
in deep thought. 

“Say, I’ll cut home and ask Sister Sue for it,” 
volunteered Sherm, who didn’t have red hair and 
freckles for nothing. “She’ll almost always help a 
fellow out.” 

The boys watched impatiently. Fifteen minutes 
passed. They could see from the window that the 
little girls were all on the front fence watching for 
their return. 

“How’ll Sherm ever get in?” asked Carol gloom- 

ily. 

“He won’t ! They’ve seen him now, I bet. Watch 
them all running. Sherm must be trying to make it 
in the back way. Gee, they’ve got him !” 


The Millinery Store 41 

Sherm shook off his pursuer’s clinging fingers. 
His longer legs soon distanced them enough for him 
to dash up the stairs and shoot into the room ahead 
of them. Ernest promptly shut the door and bolted 
it. 

Sherm dropped panting into a chair, shaking his 
head. 

“Sue wasn’t there, and mother didn’t have any 
small change and said I’d had more spending money 
than was good for me anyhow.” 

The little girls began to pound vigorously on the 
door. 

“We might tell them we lost it,” suggested Carol 
desperately. 

“No, we won’t!” retorted Ernest. “I’m not that 
kind, thank you, to spend the kids’ money and then 
lie about it! Nope, we’re up against it and we’ll 
have to take our medicine,” Ernest marched straight 
to the door and flung it open. 

“What you boys up to?” 

“Where’s our money?” 

“Did you get the hat to her all right?” 

The little girls stood in an accusing half-circle 
and fired their questions in a broadside. 

Ernest put the facts as diplomatically as possible. 
Sherman and Carol backed him up manfully, prom- 
ising to pay back with the very first money they 
could get their hands on. 


42 Chicken Little Jane 

For an instant the children were stunned. Ernest 
remembered the look of sorrowful amazement on his 
little sister’s face long after the whipping his father 
gave him for the offense had been forgotten. 
Chicken Little adored Ernest and he knew it. 

She didn’t say a word. She just looked. Gertie 
started to cry, but Katy flared up and turned red as 
a little turkey cock. 

“I think that’s the meanest thing I ever knew 
anybody to do — it’s just plain stealing, so it is ! I’m 
going right straight to tell your mother, Ernest Mor- 
ton — I hear her coming!” 

Chicken Little tried to stop her, but Katy was half 
way down the staircase before she reached the head. 
A moment later they heard her shrill little voice and 
the grieved tones of Mrs. Morton in response. 

Presently Mrs. Morton came puffing up the stairs. 
The boys fidgetted uneasily. Ernest began twisting 
his scalp lock again and Carol hitched up his sus- 
penders to keep up his courage. He alone was guilt- 
less of taking the money, but it did not occur to him 
to desert his companions in distress. As for Sherm, 
his face got so red by the time Mrs. Morton’s step 
sounded outside the door, that his freckles looked 
like the brown seeds on a strawberry. 

Mrs. Morton entered majestic and angry; her 
black lace shawl slipping from her shoulders un- 
noticed in her haste. 


The Millinery Store 43 

“Boys, what is this I hear?” The inquiry that 
followed was long remembered by all concerned. 
Chicken Little did not utter one word till her mother 
declared it her painful duty to tell their father. 
Then she plucked her mother’s dress and whis- 
pered: “Please don’t, Mother, I’ll pay it back for 
him out of my share from the store, he’s awful 
’shamed.” 

Mrs. Morton smiled at the troubled little face. 

“No,” she said firmly, “these boys have done very 
wrong, and Ernest, at least, must be punished.” 

The next morning at Sunday School Carol asked 
Sherman rather shame-f acedly : “Get a licking?” 

“Yep, did you?” 

“Nope, but I can’t play on the nine for a week.” 

They both fell upon Ernest as he slid soberly 
into his seat a moment later. 

“Catch it?” 

“You bet — good and plenty! Father made me 
cut three switches and he didn’t waste any. But I 
could stand Father’s lickings if Mother wouldn’t 
pray over me.” 

Carol looked shocked at Ernest’s irreverence but 
Sherm grinned sympathetically. 

“Mother makes me read a chapter in the Bible — 
but she most always gives me a doughnut or some- 
thing when I’ve finished.” 

There was no opportunity for further conversa- 


Chicken Little Jane 


44 

tion. Miss Rice, their Sunday School teacher flut- 
tered in at this moment and tactfully seated herself 
between Sherm and Ernest. After the teacher stood 
up to begin the lesson, Ernest nudged Sherm. 

“Say, want to tell you something when we get 
out. S-h-h, teacher’s looking now!” 

On the way home Ernest unburdened himself. 

“You know Chicken Little’s crazy to go hazel- 
nutting. S’pose we take the kids Saturday — to kind 
of — oh, you know — make up !” 

What Ernest said was not exactly clear but the 
boys understood. 

“They couldn’t walk to Duck Creek,” objected 
Sherm. 

“Maybe Frank would drive us. Perhaps you 
could get Sue to go too. Mother’d let Jane go 
sure if she went.” 

The boys agreed to think it over and to keep it 
for a surprise for the little girls. 




CHAPTER; m 
ThEDUCKCREEIC 

^Treasure 


Sundays always dragged in the Morton household. 
Dr. and Mrs. Morton, like many other excellent peo- 
ple of their day, believed in the saving grace of 
“Thou shalt not!” The list of things the children 
couldn’t do on Sunday was much longer than the list 
of coulds. 

On this particular Sunday Ernest was specially 
aggrieved because his mother had sternly deprived 
him of “The Last of the Mohicans” as being un- 
suitable for Sabbath reading, offering him a pain- 
fully instructive volume from the Sunday School 
library in its place. 

He relieved his feelings to Chicken Little. 

“I bet if I ever grow up I’ll do what I please on 
Sunday! I think when a fellow goes to their old 
church and Sunday School he might be let alone for 


45 


46 Chicken Little Jane 

the rest of the day. Think I’m going to read that 
dope? — all the chaps with any life in them get ex- 
pelled or go to the penitentiary and the rest are 
old goody-goody tattle-tales you wouldn’t be caught 
dead with! Guess they’re ’fraid if they got a real 
live boy in a book he’d bust the covers off!” 

Ernest’s disgust was so real it was painful. Jane 
sympathized acutely. 

“The ‘Elsie Books’ aren’t so bad only I guess 
Mother’d spank me if I talked to her the way Elsie 
does to her father.” 

“Can’t play with the boys — can’t read — can’t go 
for a tramp — can’t even get my lessons for tomor- 
row.” 

Ernest flung himself on the old haircloth sofa 
and groaned. 

Chicken Little looked out of the window wist- 
fully. It was a glorious September day. The frag- 
rance of ripening grapes from the long arbor out- 
side floated in temptingly; the maples were already 
showing gleams of red and yellow and the soft air 
was fairly calling to a frolic. Beyond the two high 
board fences that bounded the Alley separating 
their yard from the Halford place, she knew her 
two small playmates were happy out in the sun- 
shine. Mrs. Halford’s views on Sunday keeping 
were not so rigid. 

Chicken Little sighed, then suddenly brightened. 


The Duck Creek Treasure 47 

“Katy and Gertie haven’t got a brother anyhow!” 
she said half aloud, balancing advantages. 

“Who you talking to?” Ernest raised himself on 
his elbow to find out. 

“Nobody — I was just a thinking.” 

“Must be hard work. Say, Sis, I know some- 
thing you don’t know. No, I’m not going to tell 
— it’s a secret. Bet you’ll be tickled to death when 
you find out — here, look out!” 

Ernest flung his arm up in defense as Jane threw 
herself joyfully upon him. 

“Ernest Morton, you mean thing — tell me this 
minute or I’ll tickle you.” 

“Pooh, you couldn’t tickle a fly. Think you’re 
smart, don’t you? I’m going to tell you next Satur- 
day and not one second sooner so you don’t need 
to tease.” 

“Next Saturday? Is it a picnic? Am I going?” 

“Sha’n’t tell you what it is, but you’re going.” 

“Goody! Are Katy and Gertie going?” 

Ernest saw that she was getting perilously near 
the facts and considered. 

“Tell you next Saturday,” he replied tantaliz- 
ingly. 

“Please, Ernest, just tell me that.” 

“Nope, little girls shouldn’t be so curious.” 

“Say, Ernest, if I’ll get you a cooky will you?” 

“You can’t. Mother said If we didn’t leave that 


48 Chicken Little Jane 

cooky jar alone she’d punish us — besides Alice hid 
them.” 

“I don’t care. I’ve got six.” 

“Where in — how’d you get them? — hook them?” 

“I did not, Ernest Morton. Mother says we can 
eat all we want when Alice bakes, and I didn’t want 
very many ’cause my throat was sore so I just put 
some away.” 

“Cricky, wouldn’t Mother be mad if she caught 
you? Where did you put them? Well, I’ll tell you 
about Katy and Gertie for four cookies.” 

“Old Greedy, I’ll give you three if you’ll tell all 
about it.” 

“No you don’t, you promised you’d bring me two 
if I told about the girls. Get them quick, I’m 
hungry.” 

“All right, if you’ll promise to stay right there 
till I come back.” 

“All right.” 

“You’re grinning. Promise honor bright.” 

“Honor bright.” 

“Hope to die?” 

“Oh, yep, trot along.” 

Chicken Little, relenting, was back in three min- 
utes with the entire cache of cookies, which she 
religiously divided and the children munched con- 
tentedly while Chicken Little speculated as to what 
the wonderful excursion could be. With feminine 


The Duck Creek Treasure 49 

persistence she wormed a few more facts from 
Ernest. 

“Carol and Sherm going?” 

The cookies had limbered up Ernest’s tongue. 

“Yep,” he answered, but suddenly remembered 
himself when his small sister began to giggle. 

“Bet we’re going hazel-nutting. Ernest, tell me.” 

“Sha’n’t tell you another thing and you might as 
well let up.” 

“If I can get you off the sofa will you?” 

The old haircloth sofa had been a famous battle 
ground between the children for the past two years, 
and many a frolic they had had on its slippery 
length. Ernest would entrench himself firmly in 
its depths and Chicken Little would tug at arms or 
legs or head indiscriminately in an effort to dis- 
lodge him. She not infrequently succeeded, for 
while he was much the stronger, the old sofa was so 
slippery it was difficult to cling to it. 

Chicken Little did not wait for an answer now. 
She made a grab at his head which he defended 
vigorously. A sharp tussle ensued. She got his 
legs on the floor twice, but he still clung to the back 
with his hands. 

“Huh, girls are no good!” he ejaculated breath- 
lessly. 

Chicken Little’s only reply was a dash at the 
clinging hands. 


50 


Chicken Little Jane 


“No you don’t!” 

But he spoke too soon. Chicken Little pried one 
hand loose and throwing her weight on the other 
arm before he could recover his hold, rolled him 
triumphantly off on the floor. 

“Anyway, I didn’t promise to tell,” he crowed. 

Saturday morning was a testimonial to the 
weather man’s good nature. It was glorious with 
a little frosty tang to the air and a belt of blue haze 
over the distant woods. 

Sister Sue couldn’t go, but Mrs. Morton gener- 
ously permitted Alice to supply her place, and 
Frank Morton was to take them out to Duck Creek 
some three miles away and call for them again 
after office hours in the afternoon. The children 
were wild with excitement. Alice had fried chicken 
before breakfast, and there had been such hunting 
for bags and baskets that Frank said if they filled 
half of them, the horses wouldn’t be able to drag 
the crowd and their plunder home. 

The old carriage fairly bristled with heads and 
waving arms as they drove off. Chicken Little sat 
squeezed in with Katy, Sherm and Carol on the back 
seat uncomfortable but happy. Even timid Gertie 
chattered in her excitement. 

The youngsters had dressed up especially for 
the occasion. Sherm was resplendent in a scar- 
let and white baseball cap that set off his red hair 


The Duck Creek Treasure 51 

to advantage. Ernest took his straw hat because 
he said it shaded his eyes, and much reading had 
made his eyes sensitive. Katy and Gertie, just 
alike, were trim in blue gingham with smart little 
blue bows on their flying pig-tails. And Jane was 
brown, hair, eyes, and tanned skin as well as her 
dress, with a red coat like a frosted sumach leaf 
on top. Carol felt quite grown up in an old hunt- 
ing jacket of his father’s. He had stuck two home- 
made arrows in his belt as a final touch. 

Duck Creek was ablaze with autumn leaves and 
the hazel thickets were full of the tempting gray- 
brown clusters, though the nuts themselves when 
cracked seemed a trifle green. 

“They don’t taste like the hazel nuts you buy,’’ 
said Katy. 

“ ’Cause they’re not dry yet, Goosie.” This from 
Sherman. 

“Bet you never picked a hazel nut before!” put 
in Ernest. 

“Well, I’ve been hickory-nutting three times, and 
I guess you’ve never seen Niagara Falls and I 
have!” boasted Katy by way of keeping her self- 
respect. 

The children worked busily all morning only 
stopping now and then to chase the squirrels who 
came scolding the intruders for taking their winter 
stores. By noon Alice declared they had more nuts 


Chicken Little Jane 


52 

than they could stow away in the old carriage, if they 
hoped to get in themselves. 

Sherm and Gertie found a tempting persimmon 
tree and there were some wry-looking faces till 
Alice showed them how to find the fruit the frost 
had sweetened. After that the persimmons became 
immensely popular, and dresses and jackets alike 
were liberally stained with the mushy orange pulp 
to which samples of the picnic dinner were added 
later. They spread their feast out in the sunshine, 
using the sacks of nuts for seats, and waging war 
on intrusive ants and whole colonies of welcoming 
flies. 

“I don’t see what the Lord made so many flies 
for,” said Sherm disgustedly fishing one daintily out 
of the butter by the tips of its wings. 

“My, they are thick!” said Alice. “Cover up the 
cake, Chicken Little.” 

“What shall we do now?” inquired Carol relax- 
ing after the hard labor of eating three pieces of 
chicken, two hard-boiled eggs, a generous wedge of 
pie, and two chunks of cake. 

“Do? — I should think you’d need a rest, Carol,” 
Alice replied slyly. She had been mentally thank- 
ing her stars she didn’t have to cook for Carol very 
often. 

“I say we hunt that old cave,” suggested Sherm. 

“Huh, Frank says he used to hunt for that con- 


The Duck Creek Treasure 53 

founded old cave when he was a boy till he wore 
out enough shoe leather to have one dug.” 

“I don’t care — my father says there used to be 
one somewhere along here, but he guesses the mouth 
must have got covered up when Duck Creek 
changed its course. You know the creek used to 
flow on the other side of the island there. But when 
they had that tarnation big freshet about twenty 
years ago, it cut through this side too and made the 
island.” 

“Yes, I remember hearing my father tell about 
that flood — it was before the war,” said Alice with 
interest. “A lot of people got drowned and they 
say some of the Seventh Day Adventists thought 
the end of the world had come.” 

“Maybe the cave got washed out,” hazarded 
Carol who was beginning to feel that Alice’s advice 
to rest sounded good. He felt sleepy. 

“Couldn’t have — Father said it was quite a ways 
up the bank. Said he explored it once when he was 
a boy. He talks about coming out to hunt for it 
himself, but he won’t,” explained Sherm. 

“There’s a lot about a big cave in Kentucky in 
our Geography,” put in Katy who hated to be left 
out of anything. 

“Yep — the Mammoth,” said Ernest. “Well, 
come on, Sherm, let’s us have a try at it.” 

“Let us go, too, Ern,” piped Chicken Little. 


54 


Chicken Little Jane 


“No you don’t — you’d get all tired out and want 
to come back.” 

Chicken Little opened her mouth to protest but 
Alice interposed. 

“We will think up something nice to do here. 
We might hunt for it over on that wooded bank. 
Nobody seems to know where it was — it’s just as 
likely to be one place as another.” 

“We might find some bitter-sweet berries. 
Mother said she wished we’d bring her some if we 
saw any.” Gertie was getting to her feet stiffly, 
her legs cramped from being doubled under her. 

“Yes,” added Katy, “she wants some sumach 
leaves, too. You boys can just go off by yourselves. 
I bet we have the most fun.” 

Carol had pillowed his curly head on a bag of 
nuts and was deaf to the other boy’s urging to 
“Come Along.” He was fast asleep before they 
were fairly out of sight. 

Alice said they’d leave him as a guard for the 
nuts and wraps. She set off with the little girls in 
the opposite direction from that taken by the boys. 

“Wouldn’t it be fun if we could find the cave?” 
exclaimed Chicken Little, who had been studying 
over the glorious possibility for several minutes. 

“Why, yes, you might find an Aladdin’s lamp 
there,” replied Alice teasingly. 

Jane was not to be discouraged. “We might find 


The Duck Creek Treasure 55 

something. Let’s play we do anyway. What’d you 
like to find, Katy?” 

Katy considered. 

“I’d like to find all those silver spoons and watches 
the burglars stole from the Jones’ and Gassetts’ last 
month. Then we’d get the twenty-five dollars re- 
ward and I could buy a lot of things.” 

Alice laughed. 

“Those things are probably up in Chicago in 
some pawn shop long before this, Katy. It’s only 
in stories that burglars hide things in caves.” 

“Well, they might,” insisted Katy. 

“Yes, the moon might be made of green cheese — 
but it isn’t,” returned Alice. 

“Well, anyway, we can play we find the things,” 
said Chicken Little. 

Gertie surprised them all by saying: “I’d like to 
find a weenty teenty bear cub.” 

“Gertie Halford, whatever would you do with a 
bear cub? You’d be scared to death of it.” Katy 
looked at her sister in scornful amazement. 

“I’d like to find those stock certificates Father 
lost,” said Alice. “Perhaps we’ll find them tied 
round your bear’s neck, Gertie.” 

This absurdity made the children laugh as they 
toiled through the underbrush, which was getting 
dense, planning merrily. They wandered and ex- 
plored for about half an hour up and down the 


Chicken Little Jane 


56 

bank, finding nothing but a few haw-berries, some 
sumach leaves, and a pocket full of acorns which 
Gertie was taking back to Carol to carve into dishes, 
for her. Carol was an expert with his knife. 

Chicken Little had a big scratch on her arm 
from a thorn bush, and Katy a long tear in her 
blue gingham dress, which greatly annoyed her. 

“Let’s go back to Carol — this isn’t any fun,” 
she complained. 

But Alice had just spied something that interested 
her. 

“I bet I know what we can find that you’ll all 
like,” she said. “Wild grapes! I see a big vine 
over on that tree by the rocks. It’s in a perfect 
thicket and there may be some left.” 

It was difficult forcing their way through the 
bushes. They were almost tempted to give up but 
Alice was sure she smelled grapes and Chicken 
Little and Katy were eager to carry back some booty 
to make the boys curious. 

So they plodded on getting so many scratches and 
slaps from overhanging branches and interlacing 
bushes that they made a joke of them. 

“Mr. Bush, if you catch my hair again, I’ll break 
a piece out of you,” and Chicken Little gave the 
offending bush such a shove that it promptly re- 
bounded, grazing her cheek. 

“Never mind,” said Alice. “I’ve got my thir- 


The Duck Creek Treasure 57 

teenth scratch and my hair’s almost down. I won’t 
have a hair-pin left by the time we get out of this.” 

“I guess Mother will feel bad about my dress, 
but maybe she won’t mind so much if we take her 
some wild grapes. She hasn’t had any this year. 
Oh, bother these burrs!” and Katy stooped down to 
pick a bunch from her shoe strings and several 
scattered ones from her white stockings al- 
ready profusely streaked with green and brown 
stains. 

Gertie bringing up the rear of the little proces- 
sion was too busy defending her head and face 
against briars and brush to say anything. 

Alice crashed through a particularly matted 
growth of bushes and gave a shout of triumph. 
“Here we are, children, and there are grapes — 
scads of them !” 

They found themselves under a low spreading 
oak that was fairly canopied with huge wild grape 
vines that hung almost to the ground on three sides, 
forming a big tent. The grapes were plentiful and 
the fragrance delicious. But, alas, these were like 
the grapes the fox found sour, most of them hung 
high above their reach. 

“What a shame — if only the boys were here 
they might climb!” said Alice disgusted. 

“I can climb if you’ll boost me, Alice,” Chicken 
Little volunteered quickly. 


58 Chicken Little Jane 

Alice was surveying the tempting fruit thought- 
fully. 

‘‘I don’t believe you could reach them if you did, 
Chicken Little. See, you’d have to go clear out on 
the ends of the branches. Perhaps if we’d go up 
on the hill above — it’s pretty steep here — we could 
reach some. It will be hard to get through — there’s 
a perfect rat’s nest of vines and bushes.” 

Chicken Little was already crawling under the 
overhanging vines. She soon shouted a discovery. 

“Say, somebody’s cut a little path here through 
the bushes. Come on — it’s easy after you get 
through a little ways.” 

The others followed and sure enough there was 
a faintly worn path leading off up the hill side. 
Some of the densest undergrowth had been trimmed 
a little to permit a fairly easy passage. 

“How queer!” Alice exclaimed. “Somebody’s 
been here right lately. Funny they didn’t take the 
grapes — they’re dead ripe.” 

“Whoever came here last crawled right in under 
those vines.” Katy’s sharp eyes had noticed how 
the weeds had been crushed down by some heavy 
body and that some of the vines were broken. 

“You’re right — they have — dear me, I hope it 
isn’t a tramp!” Alice replied, a little anxious. 
“Anyway he wasn’t here today because — see those 
leaves he broke off are dead.” 


The Duck Creek Treasure 


59 

“What do you suppose he went in there for?” 
demanded Katy. 

“I’m sure I can’t imagine — to hide maybe,” Alice 
looked puzzled. 

“Oh, maybe he was the burglar — maybe he hid 
the things under there — I’m going to find out,” 
and before Alice could stop her, Chicken Little was 
disappearing under the vines again. 

“O-h — Oh! I’m ’fraid! Oh, Alice, don’t let 
her!” Gertie flew to the protection of Alice’s skirts 
in terror and Katy edged nearer to her side. 

“Don’t Chicken Little — don’t — come back — 
there might be snakes under there.” Alice was wor- 
ried herself. 

The mention of snakes brought Katy with a 
scream to cling to her arm, but Jane was not to be 
daunted. They could hear her puffing and breaking 
off twigs as she progressed. Suddenly there was a 
complete silence and Alice’s heart jumped with fear 
lest something had happened to the child. 

“Jane,” she called anxiously. 

“I’m here, Alice, but there’s something funny — 
there’s a great big hole in between some rocks — only 
I can’t see much, ’cause there’s so many vines and 
it’s dark.” 

“Oh, do you s’pose it’s a bear den? Oh, I want 
my mother!” Gertie began to whimper. 

“Shut up, silly, there aren’t any bears ’round 


6o 


Chicken Little Jane 


here!” said Katy unfeelingly. “It’s a woodchuck 
hole most likely.” 

“I wonder if it could be that cave,” said Alice. 
“You wait here, girls, I’m going in there too.” 

Alice fought her way in to Chicken Little’s side. 
Sure enough there was a dark hole about two feet 
high. 

Jane encouraged by Alice’s presence was for ex- 
ploring at once, but Alice caught her dress deter- 
minedly. 

“Don’t you dare, Jane Morton, it wouldn’t be 
safe — there might be snakes — you can’t tell what’s in 
there. I believe whoever came in here went into 
that hole — see, here’s two foot prints. I think 
we’d better get out of this.” 

Alice made Chicken Little precede her back to the 
spot where Katy and Gertie were waiting. 

The Halford girls were thoroughly frightened 
and clamored to go home. Alice hesitated. 

“I hate not to get some of those grapes after all 
our trouble. I don’t believe there’s anybody round 
here now and there hasn’t been a wild animal seen 
on Duck Creek for years.” 

“I could reach those over there if you’d hold me 
up, Alice,” said Chicken Little. 

“Pooh, I can get some by myself,” said Katy re- 
assured by Alice’s words. 

“Well, let’s fill this old apron anyhow, it won’t 


The Duck Creek Treasure 


61 


hurt it.” Alice had worn an old apron to protect 
herself against the muss of the lunch and had for- 
gotten to take it off. 

They all set to work, but the apron proved capa- 
cious and before it was half loaded, they heard a 
shrill whistle below them and Carol’s voice calling: 

“Hello there — where have you got to?” 

An answering call soon brought him to the tree. 

“Whew, aren’t they beauties?” he gloated, sur- 
prised. 

“How’d you find us?” inquired Katy. 

“Trailed you by your tracks — woke up and found 
everybody vamoosed and I knew it was no good go- 
ing after the boys and ” he was not allowed to 

finish. 

“Oh, Carol, we’ve found the cave!” Chicken Lit- 
tle’s voice was shrill with importance. 

“Honest to goodness?” Carol looked incredulous. 

“Cross my heart,” affirmed Katy promptly though 
she hadn’t so much as had a glimpse of the mys- 
terious hole. 

“Where?” 

“Under there — I’ll show you,” Jane made a dive 
for the vines but Alice caught her arm. 

“You are not going in there again.” 

“Show me — I’ll go.” Carol was eager with ex- 
citement. 

“Got any matches, Carol?” 



62 


Chicken Little Jane 


“No, but Ern has a pocket full.” 

“I tell you — the boys must be coming back by 
this time. You go meet them while we finish pick- 
ing these grapes and when they come we’ll explore 
the thing. Cut some big sticks and bring them along, 
Carol.” Alice had hardly finished speaking before 
Carol was off. 

Fifteen minutes later the boys were heard halloo- 
ing below them. They came swarming through the 
thicket excited and breathless. 

“Bully for Chicken Little Jane!” cheered Sherm 
when they got the facts. “Here, Carol, give me 
your knife and I’ll hack away some of these vines.” 

The boys cleared a way in a jiffy, letting in a 
stream of light at the same time so they could see 
more of the hole. 

“I bet you ’tis!” 

“Geewhillikens, I wonder how big it is!” 

“Alice says somebody has been in there — they 
have too — see there!” 

“Here boys, go slow. Light a match and throw 
it in and see how much you can see,” Alice coun- 
selled. 

The match illuminated only a little way and a lone 
chipmunk darted out. It was certainly a cave but 
apparently empty as they heard no further move- 
ment. 

The boys tied a half dozen matches on the end 


The Duck Creek Treasure 63 

of a stick and thrust it in. This improvised torch 
worked beautifully. The cave was only a small 
affair about three feet one way and five the other — 
not high enough for Carol to stand upright. It was 
so hung with cobwebs they could not see into the 
corners clearly. The floor was partly covered with 
dead leaves that had drifted in and were fast decay- 
ing into mold. 

As their eyes penetrated the dimness, three of the 
children gave a yell in unison. 

“There’s something over in that corner!” 

The something proved to be a market basket cov- 
ered with an old gunny-sack. 

Ernest insisted on going after it. Satisfied that 
the cave contained nothing else they rushed their 
trophy out to the light and examined its contents. 
It yielded a regular pirate treasure. 

“What under the sun?” Alice opened eyes and 
mouth in blank amazement. “Children, sure as 
you’re born, we’ve found that stolen silver!” 

The basket was speedily emptied. One silver 
sugar bowl, four dozen spoons, two silver goblets, a 
watch and some small pieces of jewelry were re- 
vealed, besides a package of official looking papers. 

“There’s Mrs. Jones’ pin. I remember they ad- 
vertised one big pearl set round with ten little ones. 
But what do you suppose these papers are?” Carol 
and Alice were busy untying them. 


Chicken Little Jane 


64 

“Well, ’pon my soul! — do you suppose we are 
bewitched? — they’ve got my father’s name on them. 
Pinch me and see if I’m dreaming.” Alice looked 
at the papers in a daze, Ernest and Carol staring 
over her shoulder. 

“They’re some sort of legal papers ’cause they’ve 
got those big red seals on them.” 

“It is your father’s name — Donald Fletcher. 
We’ll take them home to Father — he’ll know what 
they are,” said Ernest. 

“Yes, that would be best and we must be getting 
back. Frank will be waiting for us.” 



CHICKEN • LITTLE -JANE 
AND-HEPcMGTHER 

Family prayers were hardly decently over the morn- 
ing after the picnic before Jane Morton climbed into 
her father’s lap armed with a fine tooth comb and 
a stiff hair brush. 

“I’m going to comb your hair,” she announced 
ingratiatingly. 

Dr. Morton dearly loved to have his shaggy curly 
head brushed, and scratched with the fine comb, and 
it was Jane’s office to be comber-in-chief — a duty she 
was prone to shirk if she could. 

“What are you after, Humbug — a new doll?” 

“No,” she replied in an injured tone. “I just 
wanted to know what a cestificut is.” 

“A what?” 

“A cestificut — those kind of papers we found in 
the cave.” 

65 


66 Chicken Little Jane 

“Oh, a certificate. Why Chicken Little a certifi- 
cate — I don’t know whether I can make you under- 
stand. There are several kind of certificates, but 
those were bank certificates.” 

Chicken Little looked decidedly puzzled. 

“Those pieces of paper showed that Alice’s father 
once owned part of the National Bank here.” 

“Doesn’t he own it now?” 

“Mr. Fletcher is dead, as you know, and the ques- 
tion is whether they belong to Alice as her father’s 
heir. That is what we were talking about last night. 
But don’t bother your small head about such 
things.” 

Jane combed away industriously for several min- 
utes giving him sundry pats and smoothing his fore- 
head deftly. 

“Alice says if they was really hers she could sell 
them and go to school and be like other people. I 
think Alice is like other people now — don’t you?” 

“Alice — like other people?” Dr. Morton had 
been lost in the depths of his newspaper. “Alice is 
all right — a very worthy girl — but I doubt if she 
has any more chance of getting hold of that bank 
stock than the man in the moon. The papers were 
evidently stolen from Gassett’s house along with the 
silver. It does look queer that they are still in 
Donald Fletcher’s name, but people are mighty care- 
less sometimes about business affairs — though it 


Chicken Little Jane and Her Mother 67 

isn’t like Gassett — he looks out for his own pretty 
carefully.” 

“Is there anything you could do about it, Father?” 
asked Mrs. Morton who had come in and overheard 
this last remark. “Alice seems very much wrought 
up and I promised her I would speak to you.” 

“Why, I told her last night if I were in her place 
I’d just hold on to the papers and see if Gassett in- 
quires for them and if he does, make him prove 
his right to them. It’s up to him to show they 
are his.” 

“Are they very valuable?” 

“Yes, they are worth about five thousand dollars. 
It would be a windfall for Alice, all right.” 

Mrs. Morton considered. 

“Well, I don’t know what a girl in her position 
would do with that much money if she had it.” Mrs. 
Morton was English and very firm in the belief that 
class distinctions were a part of the Divine plan. 

“Chicken Little here says she’d go to school,” Dr. 
Morton replied. 

“Go to school! Why, Alice is twenty. Well, I 
think she’d better be content in the station to which 
the Lord has called her, myself,” said Mrs. Morton 
dismissing the subject easily. 

Chicken Little had been listening to her elders 
with the liveliest interest. She could not quite un- 
derstand it all but she had done her best. Hurt by 


68 Chicken Little Jane 

her mother’s indifferent tone, she burst out indig- 
nantly : 

“The Lord didn’t put Alice in any station — she 
hasn’t been on a train since her mother died. She 
told me so and she wants to go to school just awful.” 

“That will do, Jane; you don’t know what you are 
talking about. I didn’t mean a railroad station — 
I meant that if the Lord intended Alice to be a 
servant she should try to be contented.” Mrs. 
Morton spoke severely, pursing her lips up tight in a 
little way she had when annoyed. 

But Jane was not to be suppressed. 

“Yes, but it wasn’t the Lord — it was Mr. Gassett’s 
stealing their money. Alice said it would make her 
mother cry right up in Heaven if she knew she was a 
hired girl. And I just know the Lord wouldn’t do 
such a thing!” 

“Steady, steady — don’t get so excited, Chicken 
Little Jane,” soothed her father, amused at the tem- 
pest. “Alice has one staunch friend evidently. 
Here are some peppermints — you can go and divide 
with Alice to even up for her hard luck. If we 
find anything can be done about that money, I’ll 
promise to help her. Will that content you, little 
daughter?” 

Jane gave her father a grateful hug and departed 
to give Alice a decidedly garbled account of what 
Dr. Morton was going to do. 


Chicken Little Jane and Her Mother 69 

“Bless the child’s kind heart,” said the doctor, 
looking after her tenderly. 

“You do spoil that child dreadfully, Father, the 
idea of her mixing up in a business matter like this. 
I’m afraid I’ve let her see too much of Alice, but she 
is an excellent servant.” 

“Alice is a treasure, Mother, and she isn’t hurt- 
ing Jane any — that is plain to be seen. Let them 
alone — the friendship is good for both of them.” 

Chicken Little came home from school a few days 
later, bursting with news. 

“Mrs. Gassett came out to the gate when I was 
going by this morning and said she heard we had 
found some papers along with the silver, and she 
said they’d lost some and maybe they was theirs. 
I just told her there was some papers with big red 
things on them but they belonged to Alice’s father 
and Alice was awful glad to find them ’cause 
her ” 

“Chicken Little Jane, you didn’t go tell all that 
to Mrs. Gassett 1” Ernest interrupted with the horri- 
fied surprise of one who is far removed from such 
childish blunders. 

Chicken Little looked from Ernest to her father 
piteously. 

“You didn’t say I wasn’t to tell, Papa.” 

“No dear, I knew with six children in possession 
of a secret, it was no use trying to keep it. There 


yo Chicken Little Jane 

is no harm done, Chicken Little. What did Mrs. 
Gassett say?” 

“She just said ‘Humph’ real mad and she turned 
her old fat back and waddled off to the house. My, 
I’m glad I am not fat like her.” 

“Didn’t say thank you for finding her silver, eh?” 
asked Dr. Morton. 

“Catch Sister Gassett saying thank you,” put in 
Frank Morton. “They say she’s a worse old skin- 
flint than her husband. I’ve been told the Gassett 
girls don’t get enough to eat let alone decent 
clothes.” 

“Come Frank,” said his mother reprovingly. 
“You forget that the Gassetts are members of our 
church.” 

“Didn’t I say Sister Gassett, Mother?” asked 
Frank with a twinkle in his eye. 

Mrs. Morton was not blessed with a keen sense 
of humor and she reproved once more. 

“Yes, but it isn’t quite fitting for you to call an 
older person Sister, especially when you are not a 
church member yourself.” 

Frank subsided with a shy glance at his father. 

Ernest seized the opportunity to impart his budget, 
though with a mouth rather too full of beefsteak 
and potatoes to make his words intelligible. 

“Carol says — (swallow) — that old Gassett tac- 
kled him — (swallow) ” 


Chicken Little Jane and Her Mother 71 

“Ernest !” 

Dr. and Mrs. Morton started in together, but 
Mrs. Morton finished. 

“Don’t try to talk with your mouth full.” 

Ernest hurriedly disposed of his food and re- 
sumed. 

“Carol says old Gassett tackled him about those 
stock certificates and he just told him we didn’t find 
any papers with his name on. If we had, we’d have 
returned them along with the silver.” 

“That was a mighty smart-Alecky speech,” said 
his father. “Carol should learn to be more respect- 
ful to his elders.” 

“I don’t see what this younger generation is com- 
ing to,” said Mrs. Morton plaintively. “I can’t see 
where children learn such bad manners.” 

“Probably corrupted by their elder brothers, 
Mother dear,” retorted Frank. “But, changing 
the subject, I am curious to see what Gassett 
will do.” 

“Yes, I am curious about his first move myself. 
Perhaps, he’ll come up here and demand the papers 
of Mother or maybe he’ll send a lawyer.” 

“Well, for my part I think the sensible thing to 
do would be to send him the papers and stop all this 
fuss,” Mrs. Morton replied. 

“Why, Mother!” Ernest started up indignantly. 

“You forget, Mother, that those papers happen 


72 Chicken Little Jane 

to be worth five thousand dollars,” said Frank, lift- 
ing his eyebrows. 

Jane looked from the boys to her mother in hor- 
rified amazement. 

“They are Alice’s papers, Mother, so there!” 

“We don’t know whether they are Alice’s or not, 
my dear, and little girls should be seen and not 
heard.” 

“But they’ve got Alice’s father’s name on them!” 
Jane’s mental crater was seething and no snubbing 
could keep it from boiling over. “I just guess you 
wouldn’t like it if somebody took something that 
belonged to your little girl.” 

“She’s got you there, Mother,” said Dr. Morton, 
laughing. “Come on, Frank, we must be getting 
downtown.” 

If Mrs. Morton was still English in her ideas, 
Chicken Little was intensely American, and while 
Mrs. Morton was a most loving and conscientious 
mother, she could never understand her rebellious 
small daughter. Many unpleasant scenes occurred 
in her effort to bring up the child in the ways of 
her forefathers. 

Chicken Little was an athletic child before the 
days when it was proper for little girls to be athletic, 
and Mrs. Morton mourned greatly over her tomboy 
propensities. She did her best to overcome these 


Chicken Little Jane and Her Mother 73 

by crowding the child’s playtime full of all the little 
womanly arts possible. But her efforts, if praise- 
worthy, were hardly successful, especially her 
attempts to teach her to sew. 

These lessons usually began Saturday morning. 

“Chicken Little, when you finish your practicing, 
I want you to come to my room and do a square 
of your patchwork. You know I let you off last 
Saturday to go nutting.” 

“Oh, Mother, please, the boys are making a little 
furnace out in the back yard and they said we girls 
might help them roast apples and potatoes — and 
Alice is going to let us have some doughnuts. And 
please, Mother, don’t make me do that nasty old 
patchwork.” 

“But, child, you must learn to sew. I should think 
you would enjoy that pretty patchwork — I got those 
bright silk scraps on purpose to please you. Why 
my mother made a shirt for her father when she 
was no older than you, and you can’t take five stitches 
neatly. Besides, I don’t think it is good for 
little girls to play with the boys so much. It teaches 
them to be rough — girls should be little ladies.” 

Mrs. Morton pursed her lips in the prim little 
expression that was Jane’s despair. 

The child’s eyes flashed rebelliously. 

“I don’t want to be a little lady!” she said sul- 
lenly. “Mrs. Halford likes to have Katy and 


74 Chicken Little Jane 

Gertie play with the boys ’cause they haven’t got 
any brothers and she thinks it’s good for them — so 
there!” 

“Why Jane!” 

“I don’t care — I don’t see why boys should have 
all the fun! You let Ernest do most everything 
he wants to — and you won’t let me do hardly any- 
thing — and I don’t think it’s a bit fair — and I just 
hate this old patchwork!” Chicken Little flung her- 
self down on the floor in a tempest of wrath. 

Mrs. Morton’s usually placid face became severe. 

“Get up this minute and come here !” 

Chicken Little reluctantly obeyed. 

“Child, do you want to be a perfect little know- 
nothing? I am grieved and pained that my only 
little daughter has such ideas. I can’t see where you 
get them. Katy and Gertie both sew very nicely 
for their ages and ” 

“Yes,” interrupted the child between sobs, “but 
their mother lets them learn on rainy days and in 
the summer when it’s too hot to play out doors. She 
doesn’t keep them in all morning on Saturday 1” 

“You have all afternoon to play.” 

“But we can’t roast apples — the boys are going 
to the ball game — and they’re building the furnace 
right now and I want to see them. Katy and Gertie 
are up on the alley fence calling me. Oh! Mother, 
can’t I go? Please, please, Mother!” 


Chicken Little Jane and Her Mother 75 

Mrs. Morton looked perplexed for a moment, 
then straightened herself resolutely. 

“No, daughter, you have been a very rebellious 
little girl. I can’t encourage such conduct. But if 
you will practice your hour faithfully, I’ll let you 
put off the sewing till two o’clock this afternoon — 
on condition that you promise to sit down without 
making any fuss and finish that square today. 
Bring it here and let me see if you are doing it 
right.” 

Jane fidgeted and looked at her mother uneasily. 

“I don’t know ’zackly where it is,” she objected. 

“Go hunt it.” 

Chicken Little went slowly, evidently oppressed 
by thought. 

She returned in about three minutes with three 
much mussed pieces of silk sewn together, from 
which dangled a needle by a remarkably long and 
dirty silk thread. 

Her mother examined it with disfavor. 

“Where are your other pieces?” she inquired 
sternly. 

Chicken Little answered in a most ladylike small 
voice. 

“I — I used them.” 

“Used them? — what for?” 

“For — silk ravellings.” 

“Silk ravellings? — what on earth do you mean?” 


76 Chicken Little Jane 

“We keep them in our Geographies and Grace 
Dart had the most colors — and you wouldn’t give 
me any old ribbons — so I used them.” 

“Jane Morton, what are you talking about?” 

“Jane Morton” looked out the window and 
squirmed uneasily. “I just told you,” she said pet- 
tishly. 

“Bring your Geography here !” 

Chicken Little obeyed and Mrs. Morton hastily 
opened it. About every third page revealed cloud- 
like fluffs of silk ravellings in all the colors of the 
rainbow. The entire Geography was so occupied 
as an album for these delectable bits of color that it 
was difficult to see how it could be used for study 
purposes. 

“Well, I never!” Mrs. Morton regarded all 
ejaculations as unladylike, but the occasion seemed 
to require emphasis. 

“Where did you get all these? — and what do 
you want them for?” 

“ ’Cause all the girls have them. I took some of 
the pieces left from the millinery store ” 

“Yes?” 

“And I cut some weenty bits of my hair ribbons 
and I traded for some of the mixy ones — and the 
quilt pieces.” 

Chicken Little shut her lips tight with an air of 
finality. 


Chicken Little Jane and Her Mother 77 

“Go get your hair-ribbons.” 

Chicken Little obeyed slowly. 

The ribbons were shortened anywhere from one 
inch to a quarter of a yard. Some looked as if she 
had taken the ribbon and left the “weenty” piece. 

Mrs. Morton’s face was a study. For a moment 
she seemed to be struck speechless. It was only a 
moment. 

“Your ribbons are ruined — I never saw such a 
child! You knew better than that and you shall be 
punished severely. Go right to your practising now 
and I’ll think this matter over. But — you cannot 
help the boys with the furnace.” 

“But you promised, Mother.” 

“I don’t care if I did; you’ve been a very naughty 
little girl and ” 

“But you promised and you’ll be telling a wrong 
story your ownself if you don’t let me. And you 
never told me I couldn’t cut pieces off my hair-rib- 
bons — and I asked you for some old ones and you 
said: ‘Run along and don’t bother’.” Chicken 
Little faced her mother flushed and defiant. 

Mrs. Morton’s face was equally red with exas- 
peration. The child’s logic was not easy to gainsay. 

“Very well,” she said with asperity, “you may go 
after your practicing, as I said, but you will be 
punished later. You understand — later!” 



T^BACKrTARDFURNACE 

It was in a more chastened frame of mind, that 
Chicken Little joined the others in the back yard 
after her practice hour was over. She had spent 
so much of the hour wondering what her mother was 
going to do to her, that the hour had really slipped 
away rather quickly. 

The three boys had the brick part of the furnace 
all done when she appeared. They were carefully 
fitting into place the rusty piece of stove-pipe which 
was the crowning glory of the structure. Katy and 
Gertie were seated on an old barrel turned over 
on its side, watching the process. They made room 
for Chicken Little between them. 

Ernest got to his feet after the stove-pipe was 
snugly set with a grunt of satisfaction 

“Frank said we’d better wait for half an hour 

78 


The Back- Yard Furnace 79 

before we started a fire to let the mortar dry. The 
sun’s pretty hot. Maybe it won’t take quite so long 
today.” 

“Let’s play tag while we wait,” suggested Katy. 

“Bet I can roll you girls off that barrel,” said 
Sherm with mischief in his eye. 

“Bet you can’t.” 

“I’ll help you, Sherm.” 

“No you don’t, Ernest — Sherm said he could — 
he’s got to do it alone.” 

Chicken Little perked up at the prospect of a 
tussle. “I’ll sit the other way, Katy. You and 
Gertie brace your feet against the ground — just as 
hard. Move the barrel a little and I can put mine 
against the chopping logs; there that’s fine.” 

Sherm was about fifteen feet away and he made a 
dash to stop these preparations. But the little 
girls were planted firmly before he could inter- 
fere. 

He was a stout lad but he found the rolling proc- 
ess more difficult than he had imagined. The other 
boys hovered around eager to take a hand and offer- 
ing unasked suggestions. 

“Lift up one end — that’ll heave them off.” 

“You said roll, Sherm Dart!” squealed Katy as 
she felt the barrel gently rising under her. 

“That’s right, Sherm, you did,” put in Ernest 
who was usually fair. 


80 Chicken Little Jane 

Sherm disgustedly lowered the barrel, rubbing his 
hands together preparatory to another shove. 

The little girls gloated. 

“H-m-m — wasn’t so easy as you thought it would 
be — was it?” jeered Chicken Little. 

“You can’t do it, Smarty,” Katy shied a chip at 
him. 

Gertie kicked her heels against the barrel in glee 
and said nothing. 

“Before I’d let the girls get ahead of me!” Carol 
and Ernest joined in the chorus of derision. 

“Sherm Dart beaten by the girls!” 

Sherm gritted his teeth and settled down to busi- 
ness. He pulled — he pushed — he jerked, but the 
little maids succeeded in maintaining some sort of 
balance. He couldn’t get the barrel over. Finally 
he had a happy thought. He also braced both feet 
against the chopping log and giving a sudden shove 
with all his strength sent the barrel over and the 
little girls sprawling in all directions at the same 
time. 

There was a chorus of protests from Chicken 
Little and Katy, but Ernest and Carol acting as um- 
pires declared that Sherm had kept his contract. 
Furthermore, the boys were eager to light the fur- 
nace, dry or not. 

To Chicken Little was granted the proud privi- 
lege of touching the match to the heaped-up fuel. 



Wiping kis ey&5 as tb e pufB came Chiekgr. 




The Back- Yard Furnace 81 

It took five matches to do the work and when the 
paper and kindling finally caught, the smoke showed 
a disposition to pour out the door into their faces 
instead of puffing decorously up the chimney. 

“I don’t see what ails the old thing,” said Sher- 
man, wiping his eyes and backing off as the puffs 
came thicker. 

“Bet there’s a crack some place near the top that 
spoils the draught.” Ernest was a student and 
strong on reasons. 

“Holy smoke! I should say so,” reported Sher- 
man, investigating. “Look at the top where the 
pipe goes in, you could put both hands down through 
the hole. Carol Brown, I thought you undertook to 
piaster this darned thing!” 

“Well, I daubed on two bucketsful of the stuff — 
maybe you think it was fun to fill in all those cracks. 
I can’t help it if you fellows left half acre spaces 
between the bricks so it falls through!” complained 
Carol, who did not love work. 

“Half acre nothing, your stuff was too thin and 
didn’t stick ! Here — gimme your bucket.” 

Sherm stalked off disgustedly and was soon back 
with a gloriously messy batch of clay which he 
dashed painstakingly into the crack and into sundry 
other cracks that his keen eyes discovered. 

“When you’re doing a job, you might as well 
learn to do it right — it saves time in the long run,” 


82 Chicken Little Jane 

he lectured with an absurd imitation of his father's 
manner. 

“Quit your preaching!’' growled Carol. 

“Allee samee, Sherm did the business, Carol,” re- 
torted Ernest. “Gee, it’s going with a whoop !” 

And the furnace certainly proved the force of 
Sherman’s words, for the fire crackled merrily. 

The children watched it, fascinated, waiting till 
the embers should be ready for the apples and po- 
tatoes. 

Katy had a bright idea. “Say, Jane, get your 
dishes and I’ll ask Mother if I can bring over our 
little table and we’ll have a sure enough tea party.” 

“Oh, shucks, we don’t want any doll parties!” 
said Ernest. * 

“ ’Twon’t be a doll party — it’ll be a people’s 
party,” protested Jane. 

“Maybe Mother’d give me some spice cakes. 
She’s making some,” suggested Gertie tactfully. 

Carol, who was a bit of a glutton, pricked up his 
ears. 

“Let the kids have their duds if they want them. 
It won’t spoil the goodies.” 

“Oh, well, I don’t care what they have, but I’m 
not going to eat from their old doll things,” said 
Sherm, who prided himself upon being above child- 
ish things. 

“Nobody wants you to, you old cross patch, but 


The Back- Yard Furnace 83 

you will, won’t you, Carol? And I bet Ernest and 
Sherm’ll want to when they see what we’ve go*,” 
and Katy bustled off with fire in her eye, resolved to 
produce a spread that should make the boys’ mouths 
water. 

She dispatched Chicken Little for the dishes with 
instructions to beg Alice for something for the 
feast, while she and Gertie foraged at home. 

Mrs. Halford was a jolly little woman who 
readily entered into the child’s scheme. 

The boys were set to tending the roasting apples 
and potatoes, and the little girls spread their tiny 
table daintily with a big towel for a tablecloth and 
rosebud china about as big as a minute. 

One untoward accident occurred before the spread 
was ready and came near wrecking the whole plan. 
While the girls were off after more food a plate of 
tempting cookies disappeared bodily from the table, 
plate and all, and loud and wrathful were the la- 
ments. 

“You mean things — you’ve got to put those 
cookies right back!” 

“You sha’n’t have a single bite if you don’t!” 

The boys grinned sheepishly. The cookies rest- 
ing joyfully in their barbarian young stomachs could 
not very well be restored. 

“I’ll tell Mother on you,” put in Chicken Little 
as a last threat. 


84 Chicken Little Jane 

“Tattle-tale, much good it’ll do you. Here’s your 
old plate, and we’ve eaten the cookies. Trot along 
for the rest of your stuff — we won’t take any more,” 
said Ernest. 

“Well, you boys can’t have but one doughnut 
apiece, now.” Katy tossed her head indignantly. 

However Katy herself was the first to suggest 
dividing her second doughnut with the boys when the 
time came. 

Ernest and Sherm had begun to treat the doll’s 
table idea with more respect as one after another 
tid-bit appeared. Quince preserves settled the mat- 
ter for Sherm, and Ernest’s last objection to doll 
parties vanished when Alice appeared with a custard 
pie. 

Alice, who had heard Chicken Little’s complaint 
about the way the boys were behaving, found time 
to linger till the little party was well started to the 
great improvement of the lads’ manners. 

“It is customary,' Carol, to serve the ladies first,” 
she admonished when Carol made a dive for a 
coveted dainty ahead of the others. 

And when the sugar mysteriously disappeared into 
Ernest’s pocket, she picked up the pie without com- 
ment and started for the house. The sugar was im- 
mediately restored and order reigned during the 
rest of the meal. The boys appreciated the girls* 
truck the more because their own cooking had hardly 


The Back- Yard Furnace 85 

been a success. The potatoes were half done and the 
apples tasted alarmingly of ashes. The moment the 
last morsel had vanished the boys cleared out for the 
ball field and the little girls looked longingly after 
them, as they surveyed the messy dishes. 

“Let’s leave them and go swing,” suggested Katy. 

Chicken Little sighed. 

“Mother’d never let me use them again if I didn’t 
clean them up and put them away.” 

“Well,” said Katy, “I’ll take my things home, but 
I don’t think I ought to help you wash yours.” 

“Why, Katy Halford, you asked me to use them!” 

“Never mind, Jane, I’ll help you. Katy can just go 
off if she wants to. ’Twon’t take long and I 
love to wipe,” said peacemaker Gertie avoiding 
a storm. 

Katy thought better of deserting and the w r ork 
was soon done in their very best manner, which, 
however, did not include washing the inside of the 
very sticky sugar bowl or gathering up the remains 
of the impossible potatoes. But Alice saved the day 
by attending to these small details and Chicken 
Little was free to worry over the hated patch- 
work. 

“Wisht I could stay out here in the sun for al- 
ways,” she sighed,, 

“Huh, I don’t. There wouldn’t be any coasting 
or skating or candy pulls or ” 


86 


Chicken Little Jane 


“Well, I wisht there wasn’t any sewing.” 

“You don’t either. Where’d you get any dresses 
or hats, Jane Morton?” retorted practical Katy. 

“Feathers might be nice,” put in Gertie, who 
loved birds. 

“Well, I shouldn’t want my clothes fastened on 
so I couldn’t get them off at night,” announced Katy 
decidedly. “And if you were a bird you couldn’t 
read books or play dolls.” 

“Well,” Chicken Little replied unwilling to con- 
cede the point entirely, “snakes can slip their skins 
right off — my father said so — and I don’t see why 
birds couldn’t — anyway, I wish little girls didn’t 
have to learn to sew, so there !” 

“I don’t mind sewing but I hate arithmetic,” said 
Gertie. 

“Pshaw, ’rithmetic’s easy.” 

“Bet you wouldn’t say so if you saw our prob- 
lems for Monday!” 

“Let’s see them.” 

“Say, Jane, I’ll help you with your patchwork if 
you’ll help me with my arithmetic.” 

“I don’t know whether Mother’d let me.” 

“Ask her if you can’t bring it over to our house.” 

Chicken Little had reasons of her own for being 
dubious about asking further favors. She did not, 
however, wish to confide these reasons to her 
friends. 


The Back- Yard Furnace 87 

“I know she won’t let me.” 

“Well, ask her.” 

Chicken Little shook her head. 

“Go on, Jane,” Katy insisted. 

But Chicken Little was obstinate. 

“Why won’t you?’’ 

“ ’Cause she’s mad,” she confessed finally. 

But the Fates favored her. When she went into 
the house in much fear of the promised punishment, 
she found her mother had gone out for the after- 
noon leaving some new patchwork cut out for her. 
Alice readily gave her permission to take it over to 
Halford’s. 

Chicken Little joyfully gathered up her pieces and 
needle and thread, but instead of running back to the 
girls, she went to the window looking out into the 
tree tops thoughtfully. She stood there thinking 
for several minutes, her brown eyes sober and her 
forehead puckered into a firm little line. Finally she 
shook her head and exclaimed regretfully: 

“I guess it wouldn’t be fair!” 

Then she walked soberly back to the girls. 

“Mother’s gone and Alice says I can, but — but — I 
guess I oughtn’t to, Gertie. I promised Mother I’d 
do it, you see. But I’ll help you with your exam- 
ples.” 

“You could do it over at our house yourself.” 

“Yes, but I think Mother ’spected me to stay at 


88 Chicken Little Jane 

home and she iet me off this morning. I guess I 
won’t.” 

And she was deaf to further argument. 

The child squared herself sturdily as the other 
children climbed the back fence, then walked straight 
into the house, carefully washed her hands — which 
would greatly have astonished her mother could she 
have seen her — and settled herself doggedly down 
to the patchwork. 

The stitches were pretty straggly when her mother 
came to examine them that evening, but they had 
been faithfully and painstakingly set with much 
pricking of awkward little fingers. Her mother con- 
ceded somewhat grudgingly that she had worked 
pretty well. 

“I trust you realize how very naughty you have 
been to destroy your pretty silk pieces and your beau- 
tiful hair ribbons,” she added. 

Chicken Little opened her mouth to retort, but 
thought better of it and closed it again. Many of 
the hair ribbons in question had been on the ragged 
edge and beautiful was a little strong — but discre- 
tion was sometimes the better part. She kept her 
big eyes intently on her mother’s face. Her fingers 
were picking nervously at her apron strings. Mrs. 
Morton felt that she was making an impression on 
the child and tried to live up to it. 

“I want you to ask your Heavenly Father tonight 


The Back- Yard Furnace 89 

to forgive you for being so naughty. I have decided 
to punish you by keeping you at home and not letting 
you play with Katy and Gertie for a week.” 

Chicken Little had been perfectly willing to ask 
God to forgive her for she felt rather mean about 
spoiling the hair ribbons herself, but this awful sen- 
tence of separation from the girls decidedly lessened 
her penitence. . . . She didn’t think the hair ribbons 
were worth it. Her brown eyes flashed for an in- 
stant but she didn’t say anything. Presently, sup- 
posing her mother had finished, she started to walk 
away. 

“Jane!” 

“Yes ma-am.” 

“Are you going to ask God to forgive you?” 

The child studied a moment then replied shortly. 

“No.” 

“What — come here !” 

Chicken Little turned and looked at her mother, 
then came slowly back. 

“Did you understand my question?” 

“Yes ma-am.” 

“What did you mean by saying no?” 

Chicken Little swallowed hard to keep up her 
courage. 

“ ’Cause I ain’t.” 

“Ain’t what?” 

“Ain’t sorry I spoiled the hair ribbons — I don’t 


90 Chicken Little Jane 

see any use in being sorry if I’ve got to stay away 
from Katy and Gertie a whole week. I guess you 
wouldn’t be sorry if somebody shut you up for a 
week — you’d be mad!” And Chicken Little, despite 
several valiant swallows, burst into a flood of tears. 






S v\\ I 


THE, -WEDDING 


Chicken Little scarcely saw her mother for the 
next three weeks. Mrs. Morton seemed to be al- 
ways shopping or calling or doing something so 
important that she could not be interrupted. She 
held long conferences with Dr. Morton and Frank. 
On these occasions Chicken Little was sure to be 
sent out of the room, and the child began to wonder 
what was going on. She consoled herself by talking 
it over with Alice. 

“What do you suppose they’re all fussing about, 
Alice?” 

Alice smiled. 

“Secrets, of course.” 

“Do you know, Alice?” 

“A little.” 

“Please tell me.” 

“I can’t, but your mother will pretty soon. It’s 
9i 


C)2 Chicken Little Jane 

something very nice and exciting, and you’re going 
to be in it. 

“Oh, Alice, I just can’t wait! Pretty please tell 
me. 

“Promised your mother I wouldn’t tell a soul. 
You won’t have to wait long, dear, so be a good 
child and don’t tease. Here’s a cooky for you.” 

Alice patted the rough brown head lovingly. 

During the next week excitement lurked around 
every corner in the Morton home. Mrs. Morton 
was having a wonderful ashes-of-roses silk dress 
made. Chicken Little found Alice concocting a huge 
fruit cake with a perfect marvel of white frosting, 
and this was promptly stowed away in the big tin 
cake box and labelled “Hands Off.” Not so much 
as a bite was permitted to any member of the 
family. 

Jane came into the room unnoticed one day in time 
to hear her mother say to Frank: “Of course, the 
house is from both of us, but I want to give you 
something all by myself, and I think I will make it 
a silver water set.” 

This was too much for Chicken Little. Why 
should her father be giving brother Frank a house? 
Wasn’t he going to live with them any more? She 
decided to go and talk the mystery over with Katy, 
but her mother saw her and called her back. 

“I’ve something very nice to tell you, little daugh- 


The Wedding 93 

ter, but we want to keep it a secret for a week or 
two yet, so you must promise Mother not to tell 
anybody till Mother gives you permission.” 

Chicken Little nodded eagerly. 

“Your brother Frank is going to be married, dear, 
early in November, to lovely Marian Gates — they 
are going to live near us over on Front Street. Your 
father has given them that pretty cottage next to 
Darts’. You have always wanted a sister — now you 
will have one. Won’t that be nice?” 

Chicken Little was too astonished to answer and 
her mother continued: “I am going to take you 
over to see Marian tomorrow afternoon and you 
must be a little lady so brother Frank will be proud 
of his little sister.” 

Chicken Little was so absorbed with the main idea 
that the hated “little lady” passed unnoticed. When 
her mother had finished telling her some of the de- 
tails about the wedding, which was to be a quiet one 
at Marian’s home, she went off to school in a maze 
of wonderment. She had never seen a wedding. 
She knew vaguely that people always got new clothes 
for such occasions and that the minister always 
seemed to be present. 

Her lessons suffered sadly from her excitement. 
She got wrong answers to four of her ten examples. 
When her teacher asked her for the second time 
where New York was situated, she answered con- 


Chicken Little Jane 


94 

fusedly, “Over on Front Street,” and was soundly 
scolded for her lack of attention. 

She relieved her mind of a few questions at noon. 

Was the wedding going to be at night? Could 
she sit up till it was all over? Was Alice going? 
Were Katy and Gertie going? 

General conversation at the dinner table had to 
be largely suspended till her curiosity was satisfied. 

“Well, Miss Interrogation Point,” laughed her 
father when she had finally subsided for a moment, 
“any other little matters you’d like to know about?” 

Chicken Little was too intent on her own ideas to 
notice his pleasantry. 

“Why isn’t Alice going?” 

“Because she won’t be invited, my dear,” re- 
sponded Mrs. Morton shortly. 

“Why won’t you invite her, Mother?” 

“My dear, I do not do the inviting. Marian and 
her mother will attend to that part. Besides, my 
child, it is hardly customary to send wedding cards 
to hired girls. I may offer Alice’s services to Mrs. 
Gates to help in the kitchen.” 

Chicken Little finished her apple dumpling 
in silence and her mother supposed she was satisfied. 

She took up the question with Alice when she came 
home from school that afternoon. 

“I wisht you were going, Alice.” 

“I wish I were, Chicken Little. Your mother 


The Wedding 95 

suggested that I might go and help, but I used to 
play with Marian Gates when I was a little girl and 
I couldn’t bear to go there as a servant. I would 
like to see your brother married — and Marian, 
too.” 

After her talk with Alice, Chicken Little started 
over to Halford’s feeling very important but vowed 
to silence. Alice cautioned her as she went out the 
back door, “Don’t tell Katy and Gertie, Chicken 
Little.” 

She rather resented this. She was resolved to die 
rather than tell anyone — as if she couldn’t keep a 
secret ! 

But her reception was certainly disconcerting. 
Katy and Gertie met her at the gate, bubbling with 
information and determined to get all the facts they 
didn’t know. 

“Say, Jane, your brother’s going to be married 
isn’t he?” questioned Katy, and Gertie added: 

“The wedding’s in November isn’t it? And he’s 
going to marry Marian Gates and she’s to have a 
white silk dress. I heard your mother tell Mamma 
this afternoon when I came home from school.” 

How could a ten year old maiden already full to 
bursting with a secret withstand such an at- 
tack? 

Jane hesitated, got red in the face and tried to 
pretend not to know anything about it, but sharp 


96 Chicken Little Jane 

little Katy had it all out of her in no time, and the 
deed once done Jane joyfully volunteered a few facts 
on her own account. 

“I’m going, and I’m going to have some white 
shoes and a pale blue silk poplin dress with lots of 
little ruffles all up and down in hills — you know,” and 
Jane danced about on her tip-toes boastfully to be 
recalled promptly to earth by Katy. 

“Your mother didn’t want you to tell, did she? 
Gee, I bet she’ll be mad!” 

“Oh!” exclaimed Chicken Little conscience- 
stricken, “you mustn’t ever tell !” 

“Well, I just guess I knew it before you told 
me, Jane Morton, and I guess I didn’t promise any- 
body I wouldn’t tell. ’Sides, everybody that’s got 
eyes knows it. I’ve seen your brother out riding 
with her heaps of times.” 

“She’s got be-utiful clothes,” said Gertie, “and her 
sister May says her hair reaches most down to her 
knees and it’s just as thick as ” 

“Yes,” interrupted Katy, “and I guess you’ll have 
to like Jennie Gates whether you want to or not 
’cause she’ll be a kind of a sister, too.” 

“She won’t either!” denied Chicken Little hotly. 
“Mother said just Marian, and she’s lovely — so 
there!” 

“Isn’t it funny her name will be Marian Morton 
now instead of Marian Gates,” replied Katy, satis- 


The Wedding 97 

fied with the commotion she had caused and wishing 
to give a new turn to the conversation. 

This was a new thought to Chicken Little and she 
paused to ponder over it. Of course her mother’s 
name was Morton the same as her father’s, but then 
she supposed it had always been Morton. That 
night when she went home she astounded her mother 
by asking why Frank’s name wouldn’t be Frank 
Gates if Marian was to be Marian Morton. She 
also made her big brother’s face flush by ask- 
ing if Marian’s red hair really truly came below 
her knees. 

“Why, little Sis, I don’t know. It looks as if it 
did.” 

Jane looked forward to the call on the new sister 
with mingled dread and delight. She drove off in 
state beside her mother proudly arrayed in her best 
red merino dress and little brown furs, and firmly 
resolved to put prejudice aside for once and be a 
little lady. 

Her awe of this new sister was so great that she 
followed her mother into the Gates’ parlor in such a 
condition of stage fright that she resembled a jointed 
doll more than an active child. She extended her 
small hand stiffly to the tall girl in blue who bent to 
greet her. But the new sister had heard too much 
of Chicken Little to stand on ceremony, and 
putting both arms around her, kissed her twice, once 


98 Chicken Little Jane 

between the wondering eyes and once on her prim 
little mouth. 

The child’s heart was captured immediately and 
she joyfully cuddled up close to this new relative, 
who drew her with her to a big chair relieving her 
own nervousness, at this interview with dignified 
Mrs. Morton, by petting Chicken Little. 

Marian Gates soon noticed that Jane seemed spe- 
cially interested in her hair. She detected small fin- 
gers feeling it cautiously and saw Mrs. Morton 
shake her head. Finally, Chicken Little reached up 
and whispered something. Marian laughed and 
nodded, then turning to Mrs. Morton explained: 
‘‘She wants me to take my hair down.” 

Mrs. Morton protested but Marian bent her head 
and told Jane to pull out the pins. The child’s fin- 
gers trembled and she touched the soft dark masses 
almost reverently. 

When the last pin was out and the hair tumbled 
a shimmering cloud over Marian’s shoulders, over 
the chair arms, and on down to the floor, Mrs. 
Morton exclaimed in admiration and Chicken Little 
stood spellbound. Marian, blushing, got to her 
feet. 

“There’s really too much,” she apologized. “It’s 
hard to do anything with.” 

Chicken Little stepped forward fascinated, slip- 
ping her fingers among the shining strands. 


The Wedding 99 

“It is” — she gasped finally, “it is— clear below 
your knees — and it’s real !” 

She could hardly wait to get home and assure 
brother Frank of the miraculous fact. He seemed 
deeply interested. When he went to see Marian that 
evening he remarked: 

“Why this unfair discrimination? Don’t you love 
me as well as you do Jane?” 

And blushing Marian displayed her wealth of hair 
to a second audience no less admiring than the 
first. 

It seemed to Chicken Little that the day of the 
wedding would never come. She bubbled about it till 
each individual member of the Morton family, in- 
cluding the sympathetic Alice, wished she hadn’t been 
told. Ernest, who was secretly almost as excited as 
Jane, though he considered it the manly thing to 
pretend that he wasn’t, listened eagerly to all her 
facts, but got tired of her questions. 

“Girls and women are always fussing about 
clothes. Mother says I’ve got to wear a stiff collar,” 
he complained. “Anyway, I hope they’ll have a lot 
to eat.” 

“Oh, I know they will,” said Chicken Little. 
“Jennie Gates said they were cooking and packing 
all the time at her house this week. She says Frank 
gave her a quarter. I wish he’d give me a quarter.” 

“Ah, he’s just makin’ up with Marian’s family. 


100 


Chicken Little Jane 

You don’t have to be paid to like Marian — you think 
she’s the only person on the earth now.” 

As the wedding day approached, Chicken Little 
became more and more concerned about Alice’s being 
left at home. She broached the subject to her mother 
again but was dismissed with a curt: 

“It is impossible, my dear. I gave Alice the op- 
portunity to be present and she refused. I fear she 
is getting notions very much above her position.” 

The child was not content. She decided to tackle 
her brother Frank. She met him at the front gate 
one evening about three days before the wedding, 
and poured out her tale of woe. Frank considered, 
then patted her on the head and promised to talk it 
over with Marian. 

The next day Miss Alice Fletcher received an en- 
graved card requesting the pleasure of her com- 
pany at the Gates-Morton nuptials. The tears stood 
in Alice’s eyes as she read it. “How dear of 
Marian !” she exclaimed. 

Mrs. Morton had felt distinctly displeased at the 
arrival of the card, but the sight of the girl’s tears 
disarmed her. Instead of discouraging Alice from 
attending the wedding as she at first intended, she 
turned in and helped her arrange a dress for the 
occasion. She did, however, ask Chicken Little 
somewhat sternly if she had teased Marian to invite 
Alice. 


101 


The Wedding 

The long parlors of the Gates home were fragrant 
with evergreen and hot-house flowers that wedding 
night when the Morton family arrived. Chicken 
Little had seen her brother’s trunk start for the sta- 
tion, and had admired his silk hat and white gloves 
as the hack called for him before the rest of the 
family were ready. She had promised Katy and 
Gertie to bring them a lot of wedding cake and to 
remember every single thing to tell them, but espe- 
cially to find out whether Marian was dressed prop- 
erly as a bride should be in “something old and 
something new, something borrowed and something 
blue.” Katy had discovered that this was absolutely 
necessary to a bride’s future happiness. 

The something new was very apparent as Marian 
and Frank walked slowly down the long room be- 
tween the lines of friends and relatives to the little 
bower where the minister stood waiting for them. 
Marian was all in shimmering silken white, but she 
wore no veil, and her glorious hair crowned a very 
sweet and earnest face. She carried a quaint little 
bouquet of pale tea roses and heliotrope framed 
formally in lacy white paper, and an exquisite lace 
handkerchief, whose slightly yellowed border be- 
trayed that it was something old, even to Chicken 
Little’s childish eyes. 

Frank held his head high and clasped Marian’s 
arm close as if he were a little afraid she might 


102 


Chicken Little Jane 


vanish at the last moment. Jane noticed that there 
were tears in her mother’s eyes and in Marian’s fa- 
ther’s and she felt worried lest it was because 
Marian had forgotten the “something borrowed” 
and “something blue.” She inspected her carefully 
the whole length of the parlors, but no hint of any- 
thing blue could she detect unless it was the helio- 
trope in the bouquet, and that she thought was surely 
lavender. Her mother wore a great deal of laven- 
der. Perhaps, though, the handkerchief had been 
borrowed. 

She forgot her anxiety for a few moments during 
the hush that attended the solemn rendering of the 
marriage service. She slipped clear out in front of 
everybody to see better, but Ernest pulled her back 
impatiently. When the last words were uttered and 
the minister extended his hand in congratulation, she 
slipped quietly around behind the bridal pair, to 
look Marian over at close range. Her brother 
caught sight of her. 

“Come on, Chicken Little, and kiss your new 
sister. Why, what a solemn face !” 

Marian hugged her up tight and Jane found cour- 
age to whisper, “You haven’t got anything blue on.” 

Marian looked puzzled for an instant, then 
laughed heartily. 

“Yes, I have, little sister, but don’t you tell — it’s a 
blue garter. And my handkerchief is old and bor- 


The Wedding 103 

rowed from my mother. It was her wedding hand- 
kerchief — so you see it’s all right. I’m glad you 
wished me to be just right.” 

“Katy said brides wouldn’t be happy if they 
didn’t,” explained the child. 

“And you wanted me to be happy — bless your 
heart! I’m going to be the happiest girl in the 
world and I’m going to love my little new sister very 
dearly.” 

The child’s heart was rather divided for the re- 
mainder of the evening between the desire to stay 
close to the new sister, and her allegiance to Alice. 
A glimpse of the latter standing off by herself near 
a window, decided her. With her usual impetuous 
movement she made a dash in her direction, bump- 
ing smartly into a tall young man who chanced to be 
in the way. 

Mr. Richard Harding looked down at her with a 
smile. 

“Hello, small craft, where are you heading for at 
such speed?” 

Chicken Little returned the smile, rubbing her 
cheek where it had grazed against his coat but- 
ton. 

“I was just a going to Alice.” 

“Alice, eh? — You are Frank Morton’s little sister, 
aren’t you?” 

Jane nodded. 


104 Chicken Little Jane 

“I’m Chicken Little.” 

“I see, well, Chicken Little, you’ll have hard work 
getting through this crowd — let me help you. Where 
is Alice?” 

Chicken Little pointed. 

Alice’s simple white swiss dress was outlined very 
distinctly against a dark red curtain. She looked 
very lovely as Mr. Harding immediately observed. 
Her dark hair was coiled low on her neck with two 
long curls hanging down over one shoulder. Her 
gray eyes were sweet and wistful as she watched the 
gay company in which she had so little part. She 
had tucked a spray of red berries in her hair and 
another was fastened at her throat with a handsome 
old cameo brooch. 

“So that is Alice. Well, I think I should like to 
go to Alice myself. Suppose you take me over and 
introduce me. I’m Dick Harding.” 

The introduction was adequate if not conven- 
tional. One of Chicken Little’s hands was slipped 
confidingly into Dick Harding’s by this time, and she 
promptly tucked the other into Alice’s when she 
reached her. This brought the two very close to- 
gether indeed and made them laugh. 

“Here, Chicken Little, what about that introduc- 
tion?” 

Jane glanced from one face to the other with shy 
embarrassment. 


The Wedding 105 

“This is Alice/’ she said, looking up at Dick 
Harding, “and this is Dick Harding, Alice.” 

“I am delighted to meet you, Miss Alice,” Dick 
said, smiling again. 

“Alice Fletcher, Mr. Harding.” 

Mr. Harding suggested that he should find them 
seats and bring them some supper. He found an 
empty sofa and Chicken Little settled down cozily 
between them. Here she rejoiced in unlimited sand- 
wiches and cake and ice-cream until she suddenly 
remembered her promise to take Katy some wedding 
cake and started off on a foraging expedition. 

Apparently Dick Harding and Alice did not miss 
her. They seemed to be having a very jolly half 
hour together. When Alice rose on the plea of 
helping Mrs. Morton, Dick Harding detained her to 
ask if he might come to see her. He was astonished 
at the confusion his simple request caused. Alice’s 
face flushed, then turned pale, and her hands trem- 
bled as she toyed with her handkerchief. It was a 
full minute before she replied. 

“I — I am afraid you don’t understand, Mr. Hard- 
ing. I am Mrs. Morton’s hired girl.” 

Dick Harding had not understood and he was very 
much surprised, but he was too entirely a gentleman 
to hurt her by revealing it. 

“I should like to come, Miss Fletcher, — if it 
would not embarrass you,” he said warmly. 


io6 Chicken Little Jane 

Alice seemed troubled. She looked up at him, as 
he stood there regarding her with friendly eyes. 

“I’m afraid it would,” she answered. “I should 
love to have you — but — it wouldn’t be best — you 
understand.” 

“Yes, Miss Fletcher, I do understand, and I honor 
you for your frankness, but I warn you I don’t intend 
to let our acquaintance drop. Good-night.” 

Chicken Little’s foraging was most successful. 
She secured enough wedding cake to furnish indi- 
gestion and dreams for a family of twelve, not to 
mention samples of other edibles, but she was hor- 
ribly afraid her mother would see the bulging pack- 
age in her coat pocket. It relieved her mind to catch 
Ernest filling his pockets, too. 

“I am just taking a little something to the boys,” 
he apologized rather shamefacedly. 

Ernest freed his mind on the subject of weddings 
the following morning at the breakfast table. 

“I shouldn’t mind the wedding,” he said thought- 
fully between mouthfuls of buckwheat cakes and 
syrup, “but what a man wants a girl tagging round 
all the time for, I can’t see.” 

Mrs. Morton looked horrified, and the doctor 
looked up from his paper long enough to ejaculate 
“What?” Chicken Little took up the cudgels: “I’d 
like to have Marian round every single minute. I 
wish she was going to live with us.” 


The Wedding 107 

“Oh, Marian’s all right, but I don’t want any girl 
dearyin’ me!” And Ernest relapsed into the buck- 
wheats again. 





CHAPTER-VH 


CHICKENLTirLE-IAhEiVR- 

DKKHM)NQPI^P9VIDF«I 


“Jane,” called Mrs. Morton as the child was start- 
ing back to school one noon a few days after the 
wedding, “go by the postoffice on your way home 
and ask for the mail. There will probably be a 
letter from Frank or Marian on the afternoon 
train.” 

“I will, Mother.” Chicken Little called back, but 
she came near forgetting it because she had some- 
thing else on her mind. She never could keep two 
things on her mind at the same time successfully. 

Alice had been very sober ever since the wedding. 
The night before Chicken Little had found her cry- 
ing. 

“It’s nothing, dear. I’m just silly enough to be 
worrying because I can’t be somebody,” she told 
Chicken Little. “If I could only find a way to go to 


108 



Chicken Little Jane and Dick Harding 109 

school two years so I could teach! I have been 
thinking of trying to work for my board, but Mary 
Miller did that and she had to work so hard she 
didn’t have time to study and she got sick. I don’t 
see how I could pay for my books and clothes either. 
Perhaps Uncle Joseph would lend me the money if 
I’d write to him — I could pay it back when I got to 
teaching. But I can’t bear to, after the way he 
treated Mother. She wrote to him when Father died 
asking him to help settle up Father’s affairs. He 
sent her $500 and said that was all he could do for 
her — that he couldn’t spare the time to come here — 
she could hire a lawyer. Mother never wrote to 
him again and we never heard from him afterwards. 
I’ve been told he still lives in Cincinnati and is very 
rich. Oh, dear, if I only could get that bank stock 
money — I wish Mr. Gasset would hurry up and do 
something.” 

Alice poured out her troubles to the child for want 
of an older listener and Chicken Little sympathized 
acutely. 

She wanted to talk it over with her father but 
Dr. Morton had been called away some distance 
into the country to see a patient and had not re- 
turned. She relieved her mind to Katy and Gertie 
on the way to school that morning and they were 
satisfyingly indignant over Alice’s troubles, but had 
no suggestions to offer. 


110 


Chicken Little Jane 


“Her uncle’s an old skinflint — that’s what he is. 
He’s awful rich and owns a big stove factory all by 
himself. Father orders stoves from there. He and 
Mamma say it’s a shame he doesn’t do something 
for Alice when she’s his only brother’s child.” 

The matter troubled Jane all day and she was 
still thinking about it when she started home from 
school. She was half way home before she remem- 
bered about going to the postofflce. 

There was a letter from Frank and she was just 
starting homeward again with it clasped tight in her 
hand, when someone hailed her. 

“Hello, Chicken Little Jane, are you postman 
today?” 

It was Dick Harding. 

“Going straight home? I’m going your way then. 
Here, let me carry your books.” 

They passed a greenhouse en route and Dick 
asked Jane if she thought her mother would mind 
her going in with him a moment. 

Chicken Little adored going through the green- 
house. She often stopped outside on her way to 
school to look at the flowers, but children were not 
encouraged inside. She wondered what Mr. Hard- 
ing was going to do with the heliotrope and verbena 
he was selecting so lavishly. He was having the 
flowers made into two bouquets, one big and one 
little. Her curiosity was soon satisfied. 


Chicken Little Jane and Dick Harding ill 

“Will you do something for me, Chicken Little?** 
he asked, after the stems had been securely wrapped 
in tinfoil and the bouquets adorned with their circlets 
of lace paper. “Will you give this to Miss Fletcher 
with Dick Harding’s compliments?’* handing her the 
big one. “And will you please beg Miss Jane Mor- 
ton to accept this with my best love?” Dick grinned 
as he presented the tiny cluster with an elaborate 
bow. 

Chicken Little was in raptures but the commission 
to Alice recalled the latter’s troubles. Childlike she 
unburdened herself to Dick Harding. 

She found him a most sympathetic listener. 

“Come over here and sit down and tell me all 
about Alice. I heard something the other day about 
Gassett and the stock certificates, but I didn’t know 
Miss Fletcher was the heroine.” 

Chicken Little’s account was a trifle disconnected 
and liberally interspersed with “Alice says” and 
“Father says,” but Dick Harding being a lawyer had 
no difficulty in arriving at the facts. He was vastly 
interested and asked many questions. 

“This uncle’s name is Joseph Fletcher and he owns 
a factory in Cincinnati? That must be the Fletcher 
Iron Works.” 

Dick Harding pondered awhile, whistling softly 
to himself. 

“You say Alice is too proud to write to her 


1 12 Chicken Little Jane 

uncle because he didn’t treat her mother right?” 

“Yes, but she wants to go to school awfully — sc 
she can be like other folks.” This phrase of Alice’s 
had made a deep impression upon Jane. 

“Poor little girl — she’s certainly had a rough row 
to hoe — and all alone in the world, too.” Dick was 
talking to himself rather than to Chicken Little. 

He turned to her again presently after another 
period of meditation. 

“Alice certainly deserves better things of the 
Fates, Jane, and I’ve been wondering if you and I 
couldn’t find a way to help her out. How would it 
do for you to write a letter to this Uncle Joseph 
and tell him about Alice just as you have told me. I 
expect it would be pretty hard work for a ten 
year old, but I could help you. What do you 
say?” 

Chicken Little was overawed at the prospect of 
writing to a strange man, but she was very eager to 
help Alice. 

“Could I write it with a pencil? Mother 
doesn’t like me to use ink ’cause I most always 
spill it.” 

“A pencil is just the thing — it will be easier to erase 
if you get something wrong. But, Chicken Little, I 
guess this would better be a little secret just between 
you and me for the present. I’ll tell your mother all 
about it myself some of these days. Do you think 


Chicken Little Jane and Dick Harding 113 

you could write the letter and have it ready by to- 
morrow afternoon? I’ll see you after school and 
take it and mail it — if it’s all right.” 

Chicken Little thought she could. Dick Harding 
gave her as explicit directions as he dared as to what 
she should say and what she should not say. 

“Remember,” he added, “not a word of this to 
anybody — especially to Alice.” 

“I’ve probably got the youngster all mixed up with 
my fool directions, but I believe she might make an 
impression on the uncle, if she can only write as she 
talks. Bless her tender heart. Alice has one loyal 
friend if she is small,” he said to himself, uncon- 
sciously echoing Dr. Morton’s words. 

Jane left Alice’s flowers in the entry while she 
delivered the letter to her mother, but she displayed 
her own tiny bouquet proudly. 

“See what Mr. Harding gave me!” 

“Mr. Harding is very kind. Was that what made 
you so late?” 

“Yes, we stopped at the greenhouse to get them 
only I didn’t know he was going to get them — he 
just asked me did I think you would mind if I went 
in there with him?” 

“Well, that was very nice — run along — I want to 
read my letter.” 

Chicken Little hurried away to take Alice her 
flowers. 


1 14 Chicken Little Jane 

“For me — really?” demanded Alice: “Who sent 

them?” 

“He asked me would I give them to you with 
Dick Harding’s compliments.” 

The telltale “he” brought a flush to Alice’s face 
and the “Dick Harding” deepened it. Alice buried 
her face in the fragrant posy to hide her embarrass* 
ment. 

“Did he say anything else, Jane?” 

“Yes, he said a lot. He asked me how you were 
and how Mamma was and if we’d heard from Frank 

and Marian. He asked a lot about you ” 

Chicken Little caught herself just in time. “I think 
he’s just beautiful — don’t you, Alice? He walked 
most home with me and carried my books just like I 
was grown up.” 

Alice hugged her by way of reply. 

“I told him how you always saved the cookies 
for us and how Ernest said you were a brick and he 
said Ernest evidently had good taste.” 

Alice’s face took on several expressions during this 
recital. When the child had finished, she said 
gravely: 

“Jane, will you do me a favor?” 

Chicken Little was all attention. 

“Please don’t say anything to the other children 
about what Mr. Harding said or about his sending 
me the flowers — will you?” 


Chicken Little Jane and Dick Harding 115 

Chicken Little readily promised though she looked 
disappointed. Secrets certainly had their drawbacks. 

She put her own flowers in water in one of her 
mother’s best vases, a white hand holding a snowy 
tulip, and stood off to admire the effect. Then she 
soberly hunted up a box of tiny, vivid pink note paper, 
a much treasured possession, and set to work on the 
fateful letter. She selected the front parlor as the 
most secluded spot she could find, the front parlor 
being reserved for visitors and holidays exclusively. 

Its quiet this evening was almost oppressive. Jane 
stared about the room seeking inspiration in vain. 
The old mahogany chairs upholstered in hair cloth 
were shindy forbidding. The globes of wax flowers 
and fruit that adorned two small marble-topped 
tables, were equally cold. The silver water set sug- 
gested ice water, and the “Death of Wesley” which 
monopolized one wall could hardly be considered 
cheering. Chicken Little shivered, and taking an 
ottoman, ensconced herself between the lace curtains 
at a west window where the late autumn sunshine 
was still streaming in. 

She sucked the end of the lead pencil meditatively. 

“Dear Mister Fletcher,” she wrote, then paused 
for ideas. Writing to Uncle Joseph she found was a 
very different matter from talking to Dick Harding. 
She was picturing Mr. Fletcher in her mind as a 
cross between a minister and a tame bear. But 


1 16 Chicken Little Jane 

Jane had a bulldog grit that carried her over hard 
places, and she finally achieved a letter. 

“I guess youll be surprised to hear from me but 
I want you to know bout Alice. Katy says your too 
stuck up is why you wont do anything for Alice. 
But I thought mebbe you didnt know how bad she 
wants to go to school. Alice says if she could go to 
school for two years she could teach and pay you 
back. She wants to go to school so she can be like 
other people stead of being a hired girl. Shes an 
awful nice hired girl mother says so and shes prit- 
tiern anybody cept Marian. I love her heaps. Alice 
says mebbe you would lend her the money only she 
wont ask you cause you werent nice to her mother 
and she got awful hungry sometimes. Please Mister 
Fletcher let Alice go to school cause she cries when 
she thinks nobody’s looking. She thought mebbe she 
could get some money for the cestificuts but Mr. 
Gassett wont do anything. 

“Respeckfully, 

“Jane Morton. 

“P. S. Most everybody calls me Chicken Little. 
P’r’aps you’d better put it on the letter. 

“J. M.” 

It took two entire sheets of the pink note paper 
to hold this communication. Chicken Little opened 
and shut her cramped hand regarding it with min- 
gled satisfaction and distrust. She had never writ- 


Chicken Little Jane and Dick Harding 117 

ten so long a letter before. She went back to the 
beginning and painstakingly dotted all the i’s and 
crossed all the t’s, a detail she had omitted in the 
first writing. She deliberated for some time over the 
spelling. The lines, too, ran up and down hill in an 
undignified manner. But Chicken Little with a re- 
gretful sigh over these deficiencies, folded the sheets 
and put them into the tiny envelope, copying care- 
fully the address Dick Harding had written out for 
her. Then she consigned the precious missive to the 
depths of her Geography so she wouldn’t forget it on 
the morrow. 

It was duly delivered into Dick Harding’s hands, 
inspected and approved. 

“Bravo, Chicken Little, I couldn’t have done bet- 
ter myself.” 

Jane’s brown eyes had been fixed wistfully on his 
face while he read and she wriggled painfully when 
he smiled once or twice during the perusal. 

“I’m ’fraid it’s pretty crooked — p’raps I could 
change the spelling if you’d tell me. I didn’t like 
to ask anybody ’cause they’d want to know what 
for.” 

“We won’t change a single thing, Chicken Little. 
See, we are going to seal it right up — and pop — here 
goes the stamp. This letter shall be on board that 
seven-thirty train for Cincinnati or my name isn’t 
Dick Harding. And if it doesn’t make Mr. Joseph 


1 18 Chicken Little Jane 

Fletcher do some thinking, why he is a little meaner 
than most men — that’s all.” 

Affairs in the Morton family went on unevent- 
fully for the next ten days. Chicken Little was busy 
in school and Mrs. Morton much occupied with 
preparations for Christmas. 

Ernest was full of certain Christmas schemes of 
his own to the decided detriment of his lessons. He 
had purchased a scroll saw and patterns, and was 
firmly resolved to present each individual member of 
the family with his handiwork. Some of the designs 
he had selected were exceedingly intricate and hard 
on the eyes, but he was not to be dissuaded from 
using them and he toiled away all his spare moments 
at the fancy brackets and towel rack. He had great 
difficulty in concealing the various pieces from the 
persons for whom they were intended. He got so 
cross about it that it soon became a family habit to 
cough loudly, before approaching his room on any 
errand whatsoever. 

The little girls soon caught the Christmas fever 
also. Alice helped Jane with her mother’s pres- 
ent, a book-mark on perforated cardboard done in 
shades of green silk, which Chicken Little regarded 
as a great work of art. She fussed away happily 
over it, tormenting Alice all the while with guesses 
as to what her mother was to give her. She had 
exploded the Santa Claus fiction two years before. 


Chicken Little Jane and Dick Harding 119 

“Alice, do you s’pose she will get me that wax 
doll? There’s a perfect dear down at Wolfs. It 
has blue eyes that shut — and real hair — oh, it’s just 
as yellow. I never saw such yellow hair, but Mr. 
Wolf said it was really hair. Oh, do you think she’ll 
get that for me? Alice, I wish you’d just tell her 
that’s what I want.” 

A few days later she rushed in pink with excite- 
ment. 

“Alice, it’s gone! Do you s’pose Mother got it? 
Katy says she thinks Grace Dart’s mother bought it 
for her. I’m going to ask Sherm. Maybe he’d 
know. Oh, I do hope Mother got it!” 

Another source of excitement was the Sunday 
School cantata to be given Christmas eve, in which 
Jane and Gertie were both to have the parts of 
fairies and Sherm a small role. The little girls 
trotted obediently back and forth to rehearsals, 
proud to be in it, but Sherm was in open rebellion, 
the said rehearsals taking away most of his time 
with the boys. Katy scoffed openly at the fairies, not 
having been asked to be one herself. 

“Pooh, you won’t look like fairies if you do have 
a lot of spangled tarlatan. Fairies are just as tiny 
and they have weenty mites of feet!” and Katy 
pointed this last remark by a withering glance at 
Chicken Little’s feet which were beginning to be 
much too big for the rest of her, and were encased 


120 


Chicken Little Jane 


in stout boots with tiny copper rims on the toes which 
she heartily loathed. Dr. Morton had insisted upon 
these as being the only proper foot-gear for chil- 
dren in winter, and many were the jibes Jane suf- 
fered from her schoolmates because of them. Katy 
and Gertie wore lovely button boots, shapely if not 
sensible. 

“You don’t need to talk, Katy Halford, my feet 
aren’t much bigger than yours, and I’m going to 
wear my white shoes and Miss Gray said I’d look 
lovely, so there!” 

Katy, who was swinging on the gate looking down 
on her small sister and Chicken Little on the side- 
walk outside, took three entrancing swings before 
replying: 

“Well, maybe, but Miss Gray don’t look so awful 
nice herself and your hair isn’t a speck curly and I 
never did see a fairy with straight hair.” 

Jane was sure she had, and Gertie said pretend 
fairies didn’t have to be exactly like really fairies, 
but Jane was troubled and resolved to consult Alice 
immediately. 

Alice guessed Katy had been up to mischief pur- 
posely. 

“Nonsense, Katy’s just talking about the little 
flower fairies. Get your Grimm and I’ll show you 
all sorts. Of course, fairies are not all alike any 
more than little girls. I’m sure you and Gertie 


Chicken Little Jane and Dick Harding 12 1 

will make darling fairies, so don’t you worry.” 

But Alice decided to give Katy a lesson, that young 
lady boasting a year and a half’s advantage over 
Chicken Little and Gertie was rather too fond of 
lording it over them. She bided her time and did 
not have long to wait. Katy came over a few days 
later proud as a peacock over a minute pair of kid 
gloves, the first she had owned. Jane and Gertie 
followed, admiring and not a little envious. 

“See, Alice,” Katy struck an attitude with both 
hands spread out ostentatiously. 

Alice saw and hardened her heart. 

“What’s the matter with your hands, Katy?” 

Katy’s face lost its satisfied smirk, but she held 
her hands for a closer inspection. 

“Kid gloves, aren’t they scrumptious? Don’t you 
wish you had some, girls? I’d a lot rather have kid 
gloves than be in your old cantata.” 

Chicken Little started to protest, but Alice antici- 
pated her. 

“They make your hands look awfully big, Katy!” 

Katy’s face fell. She had lovely tiny hands and 
was proud of them. She looked anxiously at the 
gloves then took one off and put the bare hand be- 
side the gloved one, surveying them critically. 

“I don’t think so,” she said pluckily after a mo- 
ment gulping down her disappointment. 

Alice couldn’t bear that hurt look in the child’s 


122 


Chicken Little Jane 


face even in a good cause and speedily relented. 

“Neither do I, Katy, those gloves are fine! I was 
only teasing. But, Katy, that’s the way you talked 
to Jane and Gertie about being fairies. ’Twasn’t 
real kind was it, Katy? You know how it feels 
yourself now.” 

Katy didn’t say anything but she understood and 
she remembered. She was a shrewd child and 
a generous one when her sympathies were 
aroused. 

One morning, a few days later, Alice was dusting 
the sitting room and talking with Mrs. Morton who 
was seated by the window sewing. Suddenly Mrs. 
Morton, glancing up, saw a man entering the front 
gate. 

“Why, I do believe it’s Mr. Gassett.” 

Alice came to the window to verify the fact. 

There was no room for doubt. It was Mr. 
Gassett ponderously climbing the steps of the 
terrace. 

“Dear me,” said Mrs. Morton, “I suppose he 
has come about those papers. I do wish Dr. Morton 
were here. I never could understand business mat- 
ters. Go to the door, Alice; he is ringing.” 

Alice felt a little shaky as she opened the door to 
confront the family enemy. She was a trifle reas- 
sured to discover that Mr. Gassett also looked em- 
barrassed. 


Chicken Little Jane and Dick Harding 123 

“Ah, Alice, how fortunate — you are the very per- 
son I wished to see.” 

“Will you step into the sitting room, Mr. Gas- 
sett?” 

“Ah — umm, it is hardly worth while. I can ex- 
plain my errand here.” 

Mr. Gassett was not eager to encounter any mem- 
ber of the Morton family. But Alice was shrewd 
enough to realize that it would be just as well to 
have someone else present at this interview so she 
politely insisted. 

At sight of Mrs. Morton, Mr. Gassett removed 
his hat, which he seemed previously to have for- 
gotten. 

“How do you do, Madam, a beautiful winter day. 
I am sorry to disturb you — I just had a little matter 
of business with your servant.” 

Alice’s eyes flashed at the word servant and Mrs. 
Morton looked annoyed. Despite her firm belief in 
class distinctions, she had grown fond of Alice and 
“servant” seemed unnecessarily offensive. She drew 
herself up coldly. 

“Yes, Mr. Gassett?” 

Mr. Gassett opened his errand rather haltingly. 
Mrs. Morton’s dignity oppressed him. 

He had been told, he said, that some stolen stock 
certificates had been found with the silver, which he 
understood Alice was keeping under the mistaken 


Chicken Little Jane 


124 

idea that she had some claim to them because her 
father had not endorsed them over to Mr. Gassett 
personally*. The bank had waited some weeks hop- 
ing she would find out her mistake and return them 
to their rightful owner, himself. She had not done 
so and it was his painful duty to come and demand 
his property. 

Mr. Gassett shifted his weight from one foot to 
the other and looked at Mrs. Morton. 

Alice also looked as Mrs. Morton, who motioned 
her to answer for herself. 

“Mr. Gassett, I shall not give up those certificates 
till you have proved your right to them.” 

“But, my girl, don’t you understand those cer- 
tificates were stolen from my house? I should think 
my word would be sufficient,” said Mr. Gassett 
pompously. 

“I am not denying they were stolen from your 
house, Mr. Gassett, but I wish you to explain how 
my father’s certificates came to be in your posses- 
sion.” 

‘‘Explain nothing!” Mr. Gassett’s temper was 
rising. “If you knew anything about business you 
could see that your father had signed away his claim 
to them by putting his name on the back.” 

“There is nothing to show that he signed them 
over to you, Mr. Gassett. My father died believing 
he owned that stock — he told my mother so. After 


Chicken Little Jane and Dick Harding 125 

his death we hunted high and low for it, but it could 
not be found. My mother asked you if the certifi- 
cates were in the store safe, but you denied all knowl- 
edge of them — yet you had them all the time and 
they did not appear in the settlement of Father’s 
estate. It looks very queer if they were yours that 
you did not say so to my mother at the time. No, 
I shall not give them up until you prove your right 
to them.” 

Mr. Gassett’s face was a very expressive one. It 
was red with wrath by the time Alice had finished her 
little speech. 

“Hoighty-toighty, my girl, you’d better think 
twice before you go to insulting your betters. Your 
mother’s dead and what you remember as a half- 
grown girl won’t go very far in a court of law. 
Your father made over those certificates to me as 
security for a debt. It was none of your mother’s 
business whether I had them or not. They were 
endorsed in blank because he hoped to pay the debt 
and get them back, I suppose.” 

“You mean he had paid the debt, but carelessly 
left those valuable papers in the store safe suppos- 
ing you were an honest man !” 

Alice spoke hastily, scarcely daring to hope her- 
self that she had hit the truth. 

If Mr. Gassett’s face had been red before, it was 
purple now. He fairly glared at Alice. 


126 


Chicken Little Jane 


“You shall answer for this, you minx. You’ll not 
find it so pleasant being dragged into court. I’ll 
give you one more chance to hand over those papers 
peaceably — and if you don’t, I’ll have the law on 
you. As for you,” including Mrs. Morton in his 
rage, “I’m surprised that you should encourage 
your servant to insult a gentleman in your own 
home.” 

“This is Alice’s affair, Mr. Gassett,” replied Mrs. 
Morton coldly. “She has a perfect right to say what 
she thinks. I did not arrange to have this interview 
take place here you will remember.” 

It was plain to the others that Mrs. Morton was 
on Alice’s side. 

This unspoken sympathy acted like a tonic on the 
girl. She drew herself up in a remarkably good 
imitation of Mrs. Morton’s grand manner. 

“I’ve nothing more to say, Mr. Gassett.” 

Mr. Gassett did not take the trouble to say good- 
by. He clapped his hat on his head and banged 
out the front door. 

Mrs. Morton seemed paralyzed with astonish- 
ment. 

“And he is a member of our church! Alice, I 
believe you are right — I believe he did steal them. 
He didn’t act like an honest man.” 

So Alice won one more friend in the Morton 
family. 


Chicken Little Jane and Dick Harding 127 

They poured the tale into Dr. Morton’s ears when 
he came home to dinner. 

“Well, Alice, I’m afraid you have a law suit on 
your hands. Have you kept your father’s papers?” 

“Yes, I’ve got a box full of old letters and 
papers.” 

“She’ll have to have a lawyer, won’t she?” asked 
Mrs. Morton anxiously. 

“Oh, dear, how can I ever pay one?” Alice 
clasped her hands in despair at this new thought. 

“You might get someone to take the case on a con- 
tingent fee. You don’t understand — do you? Law- 
yers often take cases for poor clients with the under- 
standing that they are to have part of the money if 
they win the case, but get no pay if they lose it.” 

“Oh, that would be fine ! Do you suppose I could 
get somebody that way?” 

Chicken Little and Ernest had been interested 
listeners. 

“Dick Harding’s a lawyer,” observed Ernest. 

“He is — and a mighty good one for a young 
chap,” replied his father. 

“Yes, and he’s awful sorry for Alice, too. He 
said she was a plucky girl,” Chicken Little broke in. 

Alice blushed and Dr. Morton laughed. 

“Here’s a lawyer ready to your hand, Alice. But 
Gassett may think better of his threat when he cools 
off, though I think you may look for trouble.” 


128 Chicken Little Jane 

The following evening Dr. Morton handed a let- 
ter to Alice. 

“O dear me,” she said, “do you suppose it’s from 
Mr. Gassett? No, it’s from Cincinnati. Why it has 
‘Fletcher Iron Works’ in the corner — I wonder — 
you don’t suppose it could be from Uncle Joseph, do 
you?” 

“Maybe he’s dead and has left you something, 
Alice,” suggested Dr. Morton. 

Alice hurriedly opened the envelope, her amaze- 
ment increasing as she read. 

“Why, I can’t understand — why how strange! 
Chicken Little Jane, did you write to Uncle Joseph?” 
she demanded, turning suddenly to Jane. 

Poor Chicken Little sadly needed Dick Hard- 
ing for reinforcements during the next three minutes. 
The entire family turned astonished and accusing 
eyes upon her, and it was plain to be seen by her 
flushed and startled face that she was guilty. 

But before either Dr. or Mrs. Morton could de- 
mand an explanation, Alice had dropped down be- 
side her and was hugging her tight, half laughing, 
half crying. 

“Oh, you darling, how did you ever happen to 
think of it? Oh, I’m so happy — I can go to school 
all I want to, he says. I’ll never forget what you’ve 
done for me as long as I live, Chicken Little.” 

When Alice quieted down, it took the combined 


Chicken Little Jane and Dick Harding 129 

efforts of herself and Chicken Little to explain the 
situation to Dr. and Mrs. Morton. 

Dick Harding had guessed off Uncle Joseph’s 
character pretty shrewdly. The latter’s pride had 
been touched at the idea of his brother’s child work- 
ing out. 

“I am sorry/’ he wrote, “you had so little confi- 
dence in me that you would not write me of your 
difficulties! I was inexpressibly shocked to learn 
that your mother suffered want. I supposed her 
family would look out for you both — she had two 
brothers living the last I knew. At the time of your 
father’s death I was extremely hard up myself and 
thought they were better able to care for her than 
I was.” 

“They were both killed during the war,” Alice 
stopped reading the letter to explain 

“I am sending you money for clothes and railroad 
fare, and I trust you will let the past be bygones and 
come at once to make your home with us. You shall 
go to school till you are thirty if you want to. Tell 
Chicken Little Katy was right. I am stuck up — too 
stuck up to want my only niece to suffer. Tell 
her, too, I owe her a debt of gratitude for her 
frank letter that I shall try to pay at some fu- 
ture time.” 

“But Chicken Little Jane, how did you know 
where to send the letter, and what made you think 


Chicken Little Jane 


130 

of writing to Mr. Fletcher in the first place?” de- 
manded Mrs. Morton, puzzled. 

“Why Dick Harding said ” Chicken Little 

got no further. 

“Dick Harding!” interrupted Dr. Morton. “Oh, 
I see,” and throwing back his head, he laughed up- 
roariously. 






OiAPTER: vin 
CHRISTMAS- 
AND THE-DAY-AFTER 


Chicken Little’s silver-spangled tarlatan skirts 
stood out crisp and glittering. Her straight 
brown hair had been coaxed by dint of two 
rows of curl papers to hang in shining brown curls. 
A silver paper star shone above her forehead and 
slippers covered with more silver paper made her 
feet things of beauty even in Katy’s skeptical eyes. 

She and Gertie fluttered in among eighteen other 
pink and white fairies in the improvised dressing- 
room at the front of the church. 

A huge Christmas tree occupied the spot where 
the pulpit and the minister’s chair usually held sway. 
The tree was likewise adorned with silver paper and 
tinsel, and pink and white tarlatan in the shape of 
plump stockings filled with candy and nuts. Each of 
the little girls was to have one of these, and each 

131 


132 Chicken Little Jane 

boy a candy cane. These also hung in red and white 
striped splendor on the tree. 

The children sniffed the fragrance of the ever- 
green and eyed the candy longingly. The distribu- 
tion of presents was not to come off until after the 
cantata. They peeped out at the sea of faces in 
front of the brown calico curtains separating the 
stage and dressing rooms from the audience. 

“My, I just know I’ll be scared,” said Gertie with 
a little shiver. 

“I sha’n’t,” declared Chicken Little stoutly. 
“Katy said I would and I won’t! I’m going to pre- 
tend we’re just playing ring-round-a-rosy on the 
school grounds and then I sha’n’t mind the people.” 

The fairies had to circle round the despairing 
heroine while their queen promised her good gifts 
because she had been an astonishingly good little 
girl. 

Sherm was to appear later when the good gifts 
began to arrive in visible packages borne by human 
messenger boys. The heroine and her Sunday 
School teacher, and her aged mother were supposed 
to weep for joy while the presents poured in, and 
ended by singing a hymn in which the messenger 
boys joined. Sherm came in and deposited his bun- 
dles with great eclat. Unfortunately he dropped one 
on the heroine’s toe startling her so that she said 
“Oh!” quite audibly. Sherm’s voice was a little 


Christmas and the Day After 133 

weak on the hymn till the last Halleluyah, when it 
came out strong and a little off the key. 

It was ten-thirty P. M. before Ernest and Jane 
got home and settled themselves before the grate fire 
to munch candy and talk it over. 

“I wish we could do it all again,” said Chicken 
Little regretfully. “Mrs. Dart said we made beau- 
tiful fairies and I guess Katy thought so too. She 
said she never thought I could look so nice.” She 
gave a little simper of satisfaction. 

“You kids were all right, but I didn’t care for 
all that singing. I wish they’d have something lively 
like fencing. Carol said he saw a man over at Mat- 
toon, the time he went with his father, who was a 
wonder. Wish I could learn.” 

“I don’t believe Father would let you, but I’ll 
help tease if you want me to.” 

“Frank knows how a little — he showed me.” 

“Frank and Marian are coming over for break- 
fast in the morning, so we can have our presents all 
together. Say, let’s hang our stockings up.” 

“Pshaw, we’re too old for that — we never get 
anything in them but candy or oranges — and I don’t 
think Mother wants us to any more.” 

“I don’t care — it’s fun. Come on !” 

Jane got one of Ernest’s socks and her own long- 
est stocking. They were busy fastening them to the 
ends of the marble mantel when Alice came in. 


Chicken Little Jane 


134 

Alice had not returned with the others, Dick 
Harding having undertaken to see her safely home. 

“Oh, children,” she exclaimed, distressed, “IVe 
lost one of my brown gloves. I wish you’d look for 
it for me first thing in the morning — it must be near 
the gate somewhere. And it’s time for you to go to 
bed now. I guess your mother didn’t hear you come 
in or she would have called you.” 

“Bet I beat you up in the morning,” teased Ernest 
as they started upstairs. 

“Bet you don’t. Say, Ernest, please wake me up 
when you do. I’m awful tired and maybe I won’t 
wake up early. I want to help fix the presents.” 

“All right, Sis, I will.” Ernest gave her a little 
pat. He was very fond of this only sister but didn’t 
care to show it in public. 

But Ernest proved as sound a sleeper as Jane in 
the morning. Alice had breakfast almost ready and 
the family table bulged with numerous brown and 
white paper packages — this was before the epidemic 
of tissue paper and baby ribbon — when Dr. Mor- 
ton’s cheery “Merry Christmas, Sleepy-heads I” 
routed them out. 

A chorus of “Merry Christmases” responded. 
Ernest’s was vigorous and Chicken Little’s sleepy, 
but Frank and Marian, just coming in the side door, 
called lustily, and Mrs. Morton chimed in with one 
for each individual member of the family. 


Christmas and the Day After 135 

Chicken Little flew down the stairs in her night- 
gown to have a peep at the fascinating table. She 
entirely forgot her stocking, which was perhaps just 
as well, for when she did investigate it after break- 
fast, she found only a piece of kindling neatly 
wrapped inside. 

“I told you Mother thought we were too old!” 
reminded Ernest. 

But the table was all that could be desired. 
Chicken Little began cautiously feeling the packages 
at her place till her mother discovered her and sent 
her upstairs to dress. 

“Oh, Ernest, there was one funny little flat box 
just like the one Katy’s bracelet came in. You don’t 
s’pose — do you?” And she gave one ecstatic jump 
in anticipation of the glorious possibility. 

Chicken Little’s hair went back with a sweep un- 
der the round rubber comb, tangles and all. She 
really couldn’t take time to comb it — and her plaid 
dress had every other button carefully unfastened. 
Brother Frank remarked that the front elevation was 
more attractive than the rear, and Marian rushed 
her off upstairs to make her tidy. 

Chicken Little’s own contributions to the pile of 
gifts were made triumphantly after she had driven 
every other member of the family out of the dining 
room. She tucked her packages clear down at the 
bottom of each pile with the exception of Ernest’s 


Chicken Little Jane 


136 

present. It crowned the heap because she couldn’t 
wait to have him open it. Her father had given 
her the money for a pocket microscope which Ernest 
had been coveting for months. 

Mrs. Morton made Alice set a place for herself 
and share their family festival. Dr. Morton could 
scarcely finish saying grace before there was a gen- 
eral falling to at the parcels. For some reason Dr. 
Morton had a prejudice against Christmas trees, and 
it was always the family custom to have the gifts at 
the breakfast table. 

Chicken Little waited just long enough to see 
Ernest’s face light up over the microscope before 
she pounced joyously upon her biggest parcel which 
certainly looked like a doll. 

The rest of the family suspended operations to 
watch her as she lifted the lid of the box, her face 
aglow with anticipation. She gave one long satisfied 
look at the contents in perfect silence then voiced 
her delight in a series of little shrieks. 

“Oh Mother! — it is! Oh, the darling! — and it 
can talk ! I didn’t know it could talk ! And see those 
red shoes — and isn’t that the dearest dress? Oh — 
Mother !” Chicken Little jumped up from her chair 
to fling herself on her mother’s neck in a grateful 
hug. 

But there were more joys. One was a gold brace- 
let — from Frank and Marian. Alice had made a 


Christmas and the Day After 137 

night-gown and a fascinating coat for Miss Dolly, 
and Ernest had bought a marvelous trunk for the 
young lady. 

Ernest’s brackets proved to be really charming 
and the young workman was well repaid for his 
hours of toil by the general admiration. Mother 
and Father declared themselves delighted with 
Jane’s painfully wrought book-mark and penwiper, 
and Alice was more than happy over the substantial 
coat and the family’s gift to her in anticipation of 
her journey. For Alice was to go to Uncle Joseph’s. 
It had been arranged that she should leave soon 
after New Year’s. 

Alice had another surprise later in the morning. 
A box of gloves arrived on top of which reposed the 
brown glove she had lost the preceding evening. No 
card was enclosed, but evidently none was needed 
for Alice blushed rosy red at sight of the brown 
glove and hugged the package close as she carried 
it upstairs. 

“I wish Christmas came every day,” sighed 
Chicken Little happily as she tumbled into bed that 
night almost too tired to undress. 

But no one wished it the next day. Everybody 
was tired and cross and found it hard to settle down 
to common daily duties after the prolonged Christ- 
mas excitement. 

Chicken Little went over to see Katy and Gertie in 


138 Chicken Little Jane 

the morning but promptly quarreled with Katy over 
the respective merits of their Christmas presents. 
Katy had some new coral beads with a gold clasp 
that she considered put Chicken Little’s bracelet en- 
tirely in the shade so Chicken Little gathered up 
her playthings and went home in high dudgeon, and 
had to nurse her wrath in lonely state till evening. 

Ernest went skating with the boys in the morning. 
The three cronies distinguished themselves by 
promptly getting into trouble with a crowd of Irish 
boys, who lived beyond the railroad in the new addi- 
tion. 

The Irish boys resented a certain irritating air of 
superiority that Ernest and his friends assumed and 
began a series of petty annoyances, bumping into 
them or crossing from the side just in front while 
they were racing. The boys contented themselves 
at first with warning off their tormentors by high- 
handed threats but the other lads outnumbering them 
grew more and more daring, till finally a boy named 
Pat Casey, deliberately tripped Carol, sending him 
sprawling on the ice. He was pretty badly shaken up 
and broke a skate strap. The trio considered this 
insult past endurance and a free-for-all fight en- 
sued. 

The trio were game, but they were outnumbered 
and would have fared badly if two older boys hadn’t 
come to the rescue and driven the other gang off the 


Christmas and the Day After 139 

pond. The Irish boys vowed vengeance and Ernest 
and his friends deciding that caution was the better 
part of valor, started for home. Ernest’s nose had 
bled freely and Sherm had a black eye, while Carol 
plaintively declared that every inch of his fat anat- 
omy was black and blue. 

They slipped into the kitchen at Morton’s and got 
Alice to patch them up. After a good dinner their 
courage rose. Ernest had been ordered to split wood 
for an hour in the afternoon and the other boys took 
turns with him at the axe, while the three planned 
vengeance on their enemies. 

“I saw Pat and Mike Dolan slinking past your 
house when I came over,” reported Sherm excitedly. 
“I bet they’re up to some devilment, I just wish 
they’d show their ugly mugs here — I guess we’d 
fix ’em!” 

Sherm’s wish was answered with startling,prompt- 
ness for at that moment the “ugly mugs” just men- 
tioned appeared over the alley fence, and their 
owners uttered hoots of derision. The boys bolted 
with one accord for the fence, but their enemies were 
half-way down the alley, delivering a volley of cat 
calls and yells as they ran. The trio vaulted the 
fence and pursued in vain. The others were too 
quick for them. 

They took turns acting as sentinel at the fence 
for the next hour, but there was no further disturb- 


Chicken Little Jane 


140 

ance. Late in the afternoon as Ernest and Carol 
were nearing the Morton home after an errand 
down-town, they were met by a broadside of snow 
balls as they were passing an alley. It was growing 
dusk and the alley was shadowy, but they had no 
doubt as to the perpetrators of this fresh insult, and 
grabbing handfuls of snow, they promptly charged 
the offenders. They proved to be the same Pat and 
Mike. 

“Here take this! — and this!” yelled Carol as he 
stuffed an icy mass down Pat’s neck and administered 
a stout kick in the shins as nearly simultaneously as 
he could manage. 

Ernest was equally successful in accounting for 
Mike and the enemy went away spitting and 
threatening. 

“You dassen’t show your faces out of doors to- 
night — allee samee !” was their parting taunt as they 
retreated. 

As a matter of fact neither Ernest nor Carol were 
allowed to do much showing of their faces out 
of doors after dark unless they had some business, 
their parents being firm in the belief that thirteen 
and fourteen year old boys should be at home after 
night. But this slur on their courage was not to be 
borne. 

“I’ll ask Mother if we can’t make some hickory- 
nut candy tonight, then we can slip out and watch for 


Christmas and the Day After 141 

them,” suggested Ernest after a few moments study. 

“Bully, that’ll work! Mother will be glad to have 
me out of the way because Susy’s having a 
party.” 

It took some tact on Ernest’s part before he se- 
cured the necessary permission, for Mrs. Morton 
felt that early to bed after Christmas dissipation 
would be wiser for all the children. 

Chicken Little promptly demanded that Katy and 
Gertie be included, but Ernest was obdurate, threat- 
ening to shut her out if she teased. 

Sherm and Carol arrived before the Mortons had 
finished tea; they shot in the side door with a 
swiftness that looked as if they were glad to be in- 
side. Their words, however, belied any lack of 
courage. Sherm was armed with a base-ball bat. 

“I came round by Front Street,” he said, “I just 
thought I’d see if any of the gang were hanging 
round. I knew they wouldn’t dare tackle me 
when I had this.” He caressed his weapon lov- 
ingly. 

Carol had a bag of the hardest snow balls he had 
been able to manufacture. 

“I’d liked to put a rock in every one of them,” he 
declared bloodthirstily, “But Father said he’d lick 
me, if I ever did such a trick again, that time I hit 
Jimmy Smith. ’Twan’t nothing but a bit of gravel 
either. I didn’t suppose it would hurt him. But 


Chicken Little Jane 


142 

Father said it was lucky I didn’t kill him ’cause it 
struck right square above the eye.” 

“ ’Tisn’t safe, I guess, Father would never let 
me put anything in a snow ball,” Ernest replied. 

“Do you s’pose they’ll come round?” 

“Don’t know — but say, boy's, don’t let on before 
Mother that any thing’s up. And see that you keep 
mighty still, Jane Morton!” he admonished. 

Chicken Little who had followed the boys upstairs 
unperceived and stood listening, round-eyed, was in- 
dignant. 

“I don’t know what you are talking about so how 
can I tell?” 

“So much the better — now run along, don’t bother, 
we’re busy.” 

“But Mother said I could help you make candy 
and ” 

“Hush,” said Sherm, “I believe I heard somebody 
outside on the gravel.” 

The boys turned out the gas and tiptoeing to the 
window, peered cautiously out. 

“It is — sure’s you’re born. I bet it’s Mike and 
Pat!” said Carol. 

“There’s somebody else over by that tree!” 

“Who — where — where?” Jane crowded up ex- 
citedly to the window. 

“You might as well tell her,” said Carol. 

So Chicken Little was initiated into the mysteries 


Christmas and the Day After 143 

of the feud and found it both interesting and terrify- 
ing. 

“Do you s’pose they’ll try to get in?” she 
quavered. 

“Oh — Oh — there he goes !” she shrieked. 

“Shut up,” Sherm’s hand was clapped firmly over 
her mouth. 

“If you can’t keep still you go straight to Mother. 
Do you hear?” added Ernest sternly. 

But at this juncture “Mother’s” voice was heard 
calling: 

“Alice is ready for you now, boys. Try not to 
make too much muss.” 

“Well, let’s go and make the candy now and we 
can slip out after a while.” 

“Gee, I’d like to take a shot at them from the 
window,” and Carol fingered one of his snow balls. 

“Here none of that ! They’d fire back and break 
the window and we’d have the dickens to pay with 
Father and Mother!” Ernest remonstrated sharply. 

After one parting look from the window, the boys 
filed reluctantly downstairs. 

“I’m going to stay and watch them a while,” said 
Chicken Little. 

“All right — you come and tell us if they start 
anything.” 

“Whew, better pull the shades down !” said Carol 
as they entered the brightly lighted kitchen. 


144 Chicken Little Jane 

Alice looked up quickly. “What for? Nobody 
can see in here at the back of the house.” 

“Oh, there might some of the boys be hanging 
round to steal the candy when we put it out to cool,” 
answered Sherm easily, trying to be off-hand. 

Alice set out the molasses and butter and sugar 
and went off up to her room. The boys pulling the 
shades carefully* down, set to work, and became so 
absorbed in the candy that they almost forgot their 
foes for the next ten minutes. Just as they were lift- 
ing the sticky mass from the stove Chicken Little 
tore in. 

“Boys, I guess they’ve heard you, because one boy 
came and told those two boys something and they 
all ran round to the back of the house — just now — 
and there were four ! Oh, you must be awfully care- 
ful! Listen, wasn’t that somebody at the door?” 

There was an audible crunching of the snow out- 
side. The door was bolted, but all four children 
stood for an instant with their gaze riveted upon it as 
if they expected to see it burst open at any moment. 

“Pooh, they can’t do anything!” said Ernest com- 
ing to himself, “and the candy’ll be all spoiled.” 

“Say, let’s go up to the north room and slip out on 
the kitchen room while the candy cools. I bet we can 
see ’em from there.” 

The boys set the candy in a pan of snow to cool 
and bolted softly up the stairs. Dr. and Mrs. Mor- 


Christmas and the Day After 145 

ton placidly reading in the sitting room were bliss- 
fully unaware of the excitement. 

“I wonder what makes the boys so quiet tonight?” 

The boys followed close by Chicken Little had 
reached the north room and were cautiously opening 
the window, inch by inch, lest the sound should be 
heard outside. Then they quietly clambered out. 
At first there seemed to be no trace of the intruders. 
But when Carol incautiously exclaimed in a stage 
whisper: “Bet they’ve all vamoosed!” a distinct 
“Hist !” was heard from below. Finally Sherm, who 
was flat on his stomach, holding on to the edge of 
the roof, solved the mystery. He held up his hand 
in warning to the others, and presently came crawl- 
ing back and motioned them all inside. 

“They’re all close against the kitchen windows 
trying to find out what’s going on. They like to 
caught us when Carol piped up that time. Gee, 
looked like there was a dozen, but some of ’em are 
little fellers. I wish we could make a rush at them, 
but I guess there’s too many.” 

“Shucks, I hate to give up,” growled Ernest. 

“Well, we might as well go back and finish the 
candy!” said Carol after a pause. “We can’t do any- 
thing with such a crowd — a sweet time we’ll have 
getting home tonight,” he added gloomily. 

“Pshaw, they’ll get tired and go home before 
that,” Ernest reassured him. “Say I’ve got an idea 


Chicken Little Jane 


146 

they can hear about everything we say in the kitchen. 
Let’s go down and pretend we’re having an awful 
good time and ” 

“Yes, and let’s guy them!” interrupted Sherm. 

“Sam’s in my room at school and he can’t stand 
being made fun of.” 

The trio returned to the kitchen, and ably sec- 
onded by Chicken Little laughed and frolicked, jeer- 
ing noisily at the crowd outside. The foes soon gave 
evidence that they could hear distinctly. They began 
to return the taunts and to rattle and pound on the 
doors and windows. They were getting cold and 
the penetratingly tempting smell of the taffy had 
evidently drifted through the cracks, for one shrill 
voice piped up: 

“Say, give us some!” to be immediately hushed 
by his more warlike companions. 

If the trio had been clever enough to act on this 
suggestion and treat, the feud might have come to 
a speedy end, but the lads were not at a tactful age. 
Instead Sherm hurled the most insulting defiance he 
could think of. 

“Go get some yourselves, you red-headed Irish 
beggars !” 

This taunt roused the wrath of the attacking party 
to a white heat, and an instant later the kitchen 
window came crashing in and a giant snow ball burst 
into masses of wet snow on the floor. 


Christmas and the Day After 147 

The boys made a dash for the door, but the bolt 
was hardly slid, when it, too, crashed, open, and 
Frank Morton stamped in, pushing Pat Casey and 
Mike Dolan ahead of him each securely gripped by 
the collar, in his strong hands. 

“Now look here, what’s the meaning of all this 
boys?” 

Before the boys could recover from their surprise 
sufficiently to answer, Dr. and Mrs. Morton and 
Alice came running in. 

Frank stopped their questions with a word. 

“Let me tend to this, please, Father.” 

Little by little he extracted the trio’s version of 
the day’s happenings. 

He turned to the Irish boys, “Is that straight?” 
he demanded. 

At first the lads maintained a sullen silence, but 
finally Pat volunteered. 

“They don’t own that ’ere pond any more’n wc 
do.” 

“Who said they did?” asked Frank quickly. 

“Nobody,” admitted Pat, “but they alius act like 
they did. They told us to keep off the north end.” 

“How is that Ernest?” 

“Well, we didn’t want them mixing up with us.” 

“Anybody give you a deed to that pond?” 

The boys were silent. 

“Now look here, boys,” Frank’s voice was stern. 


Chicken Little Jane 


148 

“It strikes me you fellows were in a pretty poor busi- 
ness trying to hog half a public pond for yourselves. 
Now you have six times the opportunities for fun 
these boys have, and yet you try to spoil their skat- 
ing. Pretty small I call that ! 

“As for you boys,” turning to his captives, “you 
weren’t helping matters any by being mean — now 
were you? You didn’t think acting that way would 
make you any more popular did you? By the way 
you’re Mrs. Casey’s boy, aren’t you? Your mother 
is a fine woman and she works too hard to have to 
pay for broken windows, don’t you think so, Son?” 

Frank laid his hand on the boy’s shoulder and 
looked straight into his eyes. 

Pat shifted from one foot to the other uneasily. 

“Yes, sir,” he mumbled with an effort. 

“Well, she isn’t going to have to this time. I will 
give you a chance to earn the money to pay for it 
yourself? Want to?” 

The boy nodded eagerly. Frank smiled in return. 

“Ernest, pass that candy over here and you boys 
shake hands with Pat and Mike and see to it you 
treat them white after this! My brother and his 
friends aren’t as small as they let on, boys,” he added 
turning to the others. 

The Irish lads grinned sheepishly, and shyly ac- 
cepted the candy and apples which the trio, with a 
complete change of heart pressed upon them. 


Christmas and the Day After 149 

Chicken Little not to be outdone made them all 
laugh by offering her small fist, which was hopelessly 
gummed up with the taffy she had forgotten in the 
excitement 



u 


(HICKEN-ETTiyANL'S-GIfT 

“Well, Alice,” said Dr. Morton, coming in one 
noon stamping and shaking the snow off his 
broad shoulders. “I have discovered why you 
haven’t heard from Gassett again. He is down with 
typhoid fever — looks like a bad case. He won’t 
be in a condition to start lawsuits for some weeks, 
so you may set your mind at rest for the present.” 

The Christmas holidays had gone by all too 
quickly for the Morton family. The children were 
already grumbling about starting back to school. Dr. 
Morton had a number of very sick patients on his 
hands and looked worried in consequence. Mrs. 
Morton was helping Alice with her simple wardrobe, 
and Alice was helping Mrs. Morton break in a new 
maid. 

It was really a great comfort to Mrs. Morton to 
150 



Chicken Little Jane’s Gift 151 

feel that Alice could now be received as an equal. 
She had grown fond of her unconsciously, but ac- 
cording to her rigid ideas, friendship with a servant 
was impossible. “I have always felt” she told her 
friends, “that Alice was too refined for her situation. 
Blood will tell, you know.” 

Chicken Little and Ernest mourned Alice’s de- 
parture loudly. Ernest turned up his nose promptly 
at the new girl — a willing soul with scant intelligence. 

“Have we got to have that thing round, Mother?” 
he demanded in deep disgust. He had just deluged 
his hot cakes with cream which Olga had put in the 
syrup jug by mistake. 

“I’m afraid so, my son, until we can find someone 
better. Girls are hard to get in this town. Alice has 
certainly spoiled us.” 

“What did you let her go for?” Ernest grumbled 
as if keeping her with them were optional. 

“Why, Ernest, I thought you were pleased with 
Alice’s good fortune.” 

“Well, that’s not saying I want her to go off and 
never see her again.” 

“Oh, you’ll see me again, Ernest,” said Alice, 
coming into the room just then and divining the 
boy’s mood. 

“I am coming back to Centerville as soon as I 
finish school. It seems so hard to leave you all. 
You’ve been so good to me ” 


152 Chicken Little Jane 

Alice broke down and turned hurriedly away to 
hide her tears. 

Chicken Little jumped up and threw her arms 
around Alice’s waist, laying her face against her 
hands lovingly. 

Alice hugged the child tight. 

“I am going to miss you so, dear. There won’t 
be any little girl to cuddle at Uncle Joseph’s.” 

Jane followed Alice into her room after breakfast 
to help pack the shiny new trunk. This was Alice’s 
last day. 

“My, isn’t it grand! It’s got a place for hats and 
your parasol — and what are these little places for, 
Alice?” Chicken Little was eagerly investigat- 
ing. 

“Oh, handkerchiefs and ties and gloves. I’m 
a lucky girl to have all these nice things. Just think 
— three new dresses I Blue and brown cashmeres for 
school and a green silk poplin for Sunday best — 
aren’t these little bows down the front cunning?” 

Alice surveyed her treasures with a sigh of satis- 
faction. 

“If they’ll only like me a little at Uncle Joseph’s. 
I wish I could take you along, Chicken Little Jane, 
I wouldn’t be lonely if I had you.” 

“Will you be dreadfully lonely, Alice?” Chicken 
Little was getting concerned. 

“I am afraid I will, Chicken Little.” 


Chicken Little Jane’s Gift 153 

The child pondered the matter for the rest of the 
morrfing. 

At dinner, she interrupted her father in the midst 
of a story to ask: 

“Can people take dogs or birds on a train?” 

“Yes, Chicken, what did you want to know for? 
The dogs are usually put in the baggage car.” 

“If it was just a puppy would it have to go in the 
baggage car?” 

“Why if it was very tiny it might be carried in a 
covered box or basket.” 

Jane subsided for several minutes then interrupted 
again. 

“Could you put a kitty in a basket?” 

“I guess so, but don’t interrupt me so much, 
child.” Dr. Morton replied carelessly. 

“Yes, Jane, that is a very bad habit you are form- 
ing. It is not polite to break into a conversation 
that way — especially when older people are talking,” 
Mrs. Morton added impressively. 

After dinner Chicken Little began to rummage. 
First she found a collar box with a cover. She took 
this to her mother and asked if she might have it. 
Her mother readily gave it to her, but apparently 
the child was not satisfied. She looked it over 
dubiously. “I don’t believe it could breathe,” she 
said to herself. 

The collar box was discarded and she began an- 


154 Chicken Little Jane 

other search. She finally resurrected a small covered 
sewing basket considerably the worse for wear, 
which her mother was also willing to part with. 

Her next move was to line the basket with cotton 
batting after which she hunted out a doll blanket 
from her playthings. 

“I guess that’ll be enough,” she remarked aloud. 

These preparations completed, she tucked the 
basket under her arm and slipping out the side gates, 
went over to Grace Dart’s. She had not taken the 
trouble to ask permission. 

About ten minutes later she returned carrying the 
basket most carefully. Very little was seen of her 
till train time. When she started down to the station 
with her mother and Alice she still had the basket 
with her. Mrs. Morton did not notice it until 
Chicken Little put it down beside her on the seat of 
the omnibus. 

“What are you bringing that old basket for?” she 
asked. 

“Oh, just ’cause.” 

“Well, of all the queer children!” Mrs. Morton 
sighed. Chicken Little’s whims were very puzzling 
at times. 

Alice suspected that the basket contained some 
parting gift for herself. Ernest had hung around 
her at the last and had finally thrust a big bag of 
candy into her hand — an offering that deeply touched 



Give her tlii3 on tke train. <and-ple<a>se 


carefully. 


Chicken Little Jane’s Gift 155 

her since she knew he must have spent his last penny 
to buy it. 

They found Dick Harding at the station. Chicken 
Little heaved a sigh of relief when she caught sight 
of him. She had an idea. 

When the train rolled in and he picked up Alice’s 
valise to carry it into the car for her, Chicken Little 
pulled at his arm. As he leaned down, she whispered 
hastily; “Give her this on the train and — please, 
carry it carefully.” 

Dick Harding took the basket. Mrs. Morton was 
bidding Alice good-by and did not notice the 
transfer. 

Mr. Harding seated Alice and delivered the sew- 
ing basket. 

“Here is something very special Miss Jane Mor- 
ton wished me to give you. I have an idea its 
contents may surprise you, judging from certain 
sounds I heard.” 

Alice took it on her lap and lifted the cover. 

A sheet of bright pink note paper lay on top. It 
read, “With love for Alice so you won’t be lone- 
some.” 

Beneath the note paper a tiny gray head peeped 
out from under a doll blanket and a plaintive 
“miauw” greeted her. 

“Well, I never!” laughed Alice. “What can I 
do with it?” 


Chicken Little Jane 


156 

“Keep the basket and I’ll put kitty in my pocket 
and dispose of her some way.” 

“No, indeed, I’ll manage somehow — bless the 
child. This must be the kitty Grace Dart promised 
her. If they’ll only let me keep it at Uncle Joseph’s 
I believe it will be a real comfort.” 

Dick Harding lifted Jane up for a parting wave 
to Alice through the car window as the train pulled 
out. Alice held up a pert maltese kitten and made 
it wave its paw in return. 

“Why — where did she get that kitten?” gasped 
Mrs. Morton, a sudden suspicion entering her mind. 
“Chicken Little Jane was that what you had in that 
basket?” 

Chicken Little looked abashed, but Dick Harding 
came to the rescue. 

“Mrs. Morton, may Jane walk up with me — I’ll 
take good care of her?” 

After a moment’s hesitation Mrs. Morton con- 
sented. Dick handed her into the omnibus and 
Chicken Little trotted joyfully along beside him. 
Dick Harding seemed to enjoy having the warm 
little hand tucked confidingly into his own. 

It was an ideal winter day, clear and crisp and 
gorgeously white. 

They walked along in silence for a few minutes 
before Jane burst out with the idea that was occupy- 
ing her small brain. 


Chicken Little Jane’s Gift 157 

“Why does it make people nicer to go to school 
a lot? I don’t think Alice could be any nicer, do 
you, Mr. Harding? Our teacher’s gone to school, 
oh, most always, I guess, and I don’t think she’s near 
as nice as Alice.” 

Dick Harding laughed heartily. 

“Miss Alice is Ai, isn’t she? And we don’t like 
to have her go away so far — do we? Education 
doesn’t always make people nicer, but it often helps, 
Chicken Little. You like your father’s ways rather 
better than old Jake’s don’t you? Well, your father 
has education and Jake hasn’t. That’s not all the 
difference but it is part. Besides, even if it didn’t 
make us nicer to know things, it is rather good fun 
to learn them, don’t you think?” 

He patted the hand in his and smiled down at her. 
Chicken Little partly understanding yet puzzled, 
smiled back. 

They walked on a half block farther before Jane 
found anything more to say. 

“I guess Alice won’t be lonesome now she’s got 
the kitty. Don’t you think it was a pretty kitty? I 
wanted it awfully bad myself but I’ve got Ernest and 
Katy and Gertie to play with and Alice won’t have 
anybody you know.” 

Dick Harding stifled a laugh as he recalled Alice’s 
surprised face. 

“I think that was an uncommonly pretty kitty and 


Chicken Little Jane 


158 

you were very generous to give it away when you 
wanted it yourself. It is mighty hard to part with 
things we want ourselves, don’t you think so, little 
partner?” 

Dick looked off where the smoke of the departing 
train could still be plainly seen in the distance. 

Chicken Little followed his gaze but not his 
thoughts. 

“Do you s’pose I’ll ever go ’way off to school, Mr. 
Harding?” 

“I think it likely some day. When you do, I’ll 
promise to see you off and bring you a big box of 
candy, if I’m round when you start. Say, how would 
it do to stop in at Jackson’s and get the candy to- 
day? I might not be there when the time comes, you 
know.” 

They stopped and made the important purchase 
after much deliberation as to kinds. 

“I like gum drops and chocolate creams best,” 
Jane volunteered naively. 

“Mr. Harding is too generous,” her mother re- 
marked with a wry smile when Jane proudly dis- 
played her trophy. She had never had a whole 
boxful of candy before. Usually a dime’s worth had 
been the maternal limit. 

Chicken Little treated Katy and Gertie and Ernest 
and Carol and Sherm and the new maid, with lavish 
generosity. She also ate all her mother would let 


Chicken Little Jane’s Gift 159 

her, herself. Finally, Mrs. Morton ordered her to 
put the rest away for the next day. It would have 
been well for Chicken Little if her mother’s direc- 
tion had extended to the next day as well. But by 
morning Mrs. Morton had forgotten all about the 
candy. Chicken Little had strict orders not to eat 
sweets before breakfast so she heroically withstood 
temptation until her last bite of waffle was swal- 
lowed, then munched away till school time. The box 
with its remaining contents accompanied her to 
school to her later undoing. 

She had never known such popularity as was hers 
when the other children found what the big box 
contained. One boy made her a present of a brand 
new slate pencil on the spot. She was allowed to 
choose up for her side in “No bears out tonight,” 
though this honor usually fell to one of the bigger 
girls. By the time the bell rang she felt blissfully 
important. She settled regretfully down to her work 
with the candy snugly tucked away inside her 
desk. 

All went well until about the middle of the geog- 
raphy recitation, when turning around from her 
work at the board, she caught the small boy, who 
sat across the aisle, in the act of helping himself to 
a handful of her cherished sweets. She was surprised 
into forgetting where she was and exclaimed out 
loud : 


i6o 


Chicken Little Jane 


“Oh, you mustn’t!” 

The teacher looked up in pained amazement. 

“Who was that spoke out loud?” she demanded. 

Chicken Little raised a reluctant hand. 

“Jane Morton, I’m surprised — I wouldn’t have 
believed it of you! You may stand on the floor by 
my desk for half an hour.” 

The teacher had been much annoyed by whisper- 
ing that morning, the children being all more or less 
riotous after their vacation, so without stopping 
to investigate, as was her usual custom, she 
promptly visited the sins of the whole school 
upon Jane. 

Jane had never stood upon the floor for punish- 
ment before and she felt the disgrace keenly. It hurt 
the child’s sense of fairness, too, but she dared not 
try to explain lest Miss Brown should confiscate the 
remainder of her precious candy. She took her book 
and walked slowly over to the spot indicated in 
front of the whole school, her face growing redder 
and redder. It was several minutes before she dared 
lift her eyes and face her mates. 

When she did, several of her friends telephoned 
furtive messages of sympathy that cheered her a 
little. But her humiliation over her disgrace was 
soon swallowed up in wrath when the offending small 
boy, who had caused all her troubles, added insult 
to injury by ostentatiously eating his booty whenever 
the teacher’s back was turned. He would roll his 


Chicken Little Jane’s Gift 161 

eyes and smack his lips in the utmost enjoyment. 

Chicken Little forgot her disgrace in a desire for 
revenge. She would not give him the satisfaction of 
knowing she cared. She set herself resolutely to 
study, avoiding even a glance in his direction. But 
she did more than study; she laid her plans for swift 
vengeance. When permitted to go back to her seat, 
she still ignored him though he did his best to attract 
her attention. 

His place in the line was just ahead of hers, and 
she followed him down the halls and the long stairs 
calculating to a nicety just how she would get even. 
The moment they passed through the outside door, 
the boy turned for a parting taunt. He did not get 
it out. Before he could utter a single sound Chicken 
Little struck him a resounding slap in the face with 
all her young might. 

The youngster would have hit back, but another 
boy grabbed him and ordered him roughly to let 
little girls alone. And Chicken Little went home 
ashamed but solaced. 

She was nervous for a while lest her mother 
should hear of her scrape. However, several days 
went by and she was beginning to breathe easier, 
when Brother Frank overtook her one morning on 
her way to school. 

“Hello, Sis, what is this I hear about having a 
prize-fighter in the family?” 


162 Chicken Little Jane 

Jane’s face grew hot, but she looked at him 
mutely. 

“I thought it was only rough boys who smashed 
in people’s noses and made them bleed. I didn’t 
suppose my gentle little sister would do such a 
thing.” 

Chicken Little swallowed hard but still kept silent 
and Frank pressed harder. 

“I have always believed my little sister was a lady. 
I am afraid Mother will be grieved to hear what her 
daughter has been doing.” 

Words came to Chicken Little at last in a burst 
of sobs: 

“I don’t care — he took my candy — I had to stand 
— on — on the floor — and it wasn’t fair — you can just 
go and tell Mother if you want to !” 

Frank took her hand and patted it. 

“Out with the whole story, Sis. I suspected there 
was something more to it than I heard — you aren’t 
usually warlike.” 

So Chicken Little sobbed out the woeful tale. 
Brother Frank smiled broadly above the bent head 
over the ludicrous incident, but he controlled him- 
self sufficiently to admonish soberly. 

“Well, Johnny seems to have deserved all he got. 
At the same time, Jane, I don’t think I’d do such 
a thing again, if I were you.” 


Q3APTE7R7X ^ 
SKATING 


Chicken Little watched Ernest tie his red muffler 
around his neck and sling his skates across his shoul- 
der, enviously. 

“I wish I could go skating,” she sighed. 

“You shall some day, dear,” said her mother, who 
was sitting sewing by the open fire. “But the pond 
is too far away 1 for you to go without some older 
person to look after you.” 

“I don’t see why Ernest and Carol couldn’t look 
after me.” 

“They would forget you in ten minutes. No, you 
must be patient, little daughter, and wait till you 
are bigger.” 

Chicken Little flattened her nose against the cold 
pane ruefully. 

“You may go and play with Katy and Gertie for 
an hour if you wish.” 

163 


Chicken Little Jane 


164 

But Jane didn’t wish. She was a child of one idea 
and her head was filled with visions of Cedar Pond 
and its crowd of gay skaters. She could fairly see the 
boys gliding away across the glistening surface or 
cutting fancy figures they loved to boast of. She 
knew some of the girls at school skated. She had 
listened to glowing tales of the sport at recess the 
day before. 

She peered out the window, an ugly little pucker 
creasing her forehead. Marian, coming in a few 
minutes later, found her glooming there still. 

“What a long face, little sister, what’s the matter? 
Have you broken your Xmas dolly or lost that new 
bracelet or what?” 

“Oh, Marian, did you ever skate?” 

“Skate? — I should say so. Frank and I are going 
out this afternoon after the bank closes.” 

“Oh, Marian, couldn’t I go, too? Mother said I 
might learn if I only had some grown up person to 
go with.” 

“But you haven’t any skates, Jane.” 

This was a poser, but Jane moved a way out. 
“Maybe Grace Dart would let me have hers. May 
I ask mother?” 

Marian hesitated a moment, but the child’s face 
was very pleading and she replied heartily: 

“Come along if your mother will let you. We’ll 
look after you — you may as well ask Katie and 


Skating 165 

Gertie, too. Katy knows how to skate a little, I 
think.” 

Mrs. Morton’s consent was soon obtained as well 
as Mrs. Halford’s. Grace Dart intended to use her 
own skates, but Mrs. Morton said Jane might as well 
buy a pair, if she were really going to learn. Marian 
volunteered to get them for her on the way down. 

Chicken Little was gay as a robin redbreast when 
she ran to meet Marian at the side gate. She was in 
red from top to toe, red coat, red leggings and red 
hood. And she was so excited she acted like a much 
distracted robin, as Marian told her a little later. 

“She does enter into things so heart and soul,” 
Marian confided to Frank, “she fairly quivers with 
excitement sometimes. Katy and Gertie are so dif- 
ferent. They enjoy themselves just as much but they 
don’t tire themselves out as Chicken Little does.” 

“Sis is too high strung, I guess — gets it from 
Father’s people. Funny, too, she’s a sober little puss 
a good deal of the time.” 

The new skates were soon purchased and slung 
over her shoulder in exact imitation of the way she 
had seen the boys carry theirs. They looked delight- 
fully sharp and glittering. Chicken Little felt im- 
mensely superior to Katy whose skates were two 
years old and not nearly so shiny. 

It was a radiant afternoon, frosty and clear. The 
pond was covered with skaters of all ages. Some 


166 Chicken Little Jane 

of the men were pulling women and children on 
sleds. 

Frank strapped the little girls’ skates on firmly. 
Katy struck off boldly for herself, while Marian 
helped Gertie. Frank undertook to keep Chicken 
Little from measuring her length on the ice — no 
small task for the child was ambitious and daring. 
Great was her joy when she finally succeeded in tak- 
ing a few short strokes without having her feet 
shoot out from under her. Presently Frank left her 
to her own devices while he went to skate with 
Marian. 

“My feet don’t seem to want to go the same way 
I do,” she complained to Gertie after two hard 
bumps. 

Gertie was proceeding more cautiously and had 
fewer falls in consequence. 

“I guess you’ll learn pretty soon — my — just see 
Katy!” 

Katy was circling around as gracefully and easily 
as if there were no such thing as falls to dread. 
Chicken Little began to lose faith in the superiority 
of her new skates. 

“Katy skates most as well as the boys — I don’t 
see how she does it,” she said enviously. 

“Cousin Sim taught her last winter. Oh, see, 
those boys are making an eight on the ice and, — 
Carol’s writing his name I do believe.” 


Skating 167 

“Yes, and there’s Pat and Mike — dear me, it 

seems as if everybody can skate just as easy ’cept 
>» 

me. 

The little girls stood watching the boys wistfully 
as they glided along cutting marvellous figures on 
the ice. The boys were bent on showing off for 
Marian’s benefit. 

“Tired, little girls?” called the latter, skating 
gaily past, her cheeks rosy with exercise and the 
frosty air. 

“No — o,” said Jane slowly, “I’m not tired but my 
ankles hurt and the ice seems to get slipprier and 
slipprier.” 

“I’ll help you if you want me to,” said a voice at 
her elbow, and Chicken Little looked around to find 
Pat Casey standing shyly beside her, cap in hand. 

“I think I could be after showing you how to 
do it.” 

She hesitated a moment wondering what her 
mother would say to her skating with Pat, then de- 
ciding to take the chance, put out her hand with a 
little smile. Things went better after that for the 
Irish lad had a good deal of chivalry in his make-up 
and was very patient and careful. 

“Hello, Pat,” said Frank, skating up. “That’s 
good of you — I believe you’re a better teacher than 
I was. You’ll skate like a bird in no time, Sis, you’re 
so light. Ice is tricky at first — throws you like a 


i68 


Chicken Little Jane 


balky horse till you get the hang of it. Come on, 
I’ll take you for another turn.” 

Frank took her spinning with him clear to the end 
of the pond. When they started back he made her 
strike out for herself, steadying her with his 
hand. Before they got back to the big bon-fire at 
the starting point, Chicken Little had discovered the 
all-important secret of keeping her balance. 

Ernest and Carol came up in great excitement to 
tell them there were going to be races and the spec- 
tators must line up along the sides of the pond. 

“See they are starting now — you must be careful 
to keep off the track, girls. Here, let’s go over by 
that rock.” 

Frank made haste to post his small charges mid- 
way of the course, where they could have a clear 
view of both ends of the pond. 

Six young men lined up at the starting point while 
the starter stood off to one side to give the signal 
and another man was posted at the farther end of 
the course. 

“One, two, three — go!” 

The starter snapped the words out and the men 
swung off in long steady strides. Faster and faster 
they came till it seemed to Chicken Little they fairly 
flew. She watched them closely as they came nearer 
— there seemed something familiar about one of the 
racers. Suddenly she gave a little shriek of surprise. 


Skating 169 

“Why, it’s Mr. Harding — see, see! It is Mr. 
Harding. Oh, I just hope he’ll beat! Don’t you 
think he’ll beat, Frank?” 

“He is a good skater, all right, Sis, but that dark 
chap is going it strong, too. They have to make the 
circuit of the pond three times. We can tell better 
the next lap.” 

Dick Harding heard Jane’s exclamation and 
waved his hand at her as they swung by. He was 
about six feet behind the dark man, skating easily 
with long swinging strokes. Chicken Little waved 
her red mittened hand enthusiastically in return. 

Carol and Ernest, who had been trying to follow 
the racers along the edge of the pond, pulled up 
along side for a breathing spell. 

“Say, Frank,” exclaimed Ernest, “they say that 
dark fellow is a professional skater — his name is 
Sanders.” 

“Yes, and Sherm says he’s tricky — he has just 
come here from some place up on the lakes,” added 
Carol. 

“I’m afraid he has Harding outclassed,” replied 
Frank watching the racers circle gracefully around 
the end of the pond and start toward them again. 
The dark stranger was in the lead and Harding a 
couple of lengths behind, with the other four spilling 
out at irregular distances in the rear. 

“He keeps crowding Harding out — do you see? 


Chicken Little Jane 


170 

He cuts across his path every now and then, but 
part of the time he only makes a feint so Harding 
loses a stroke and he doesn’t. I don’t think that’s 
fair!” Ernest raised his voice indignantly. 

Frank watched them a moment keenly before he 
replied. 

“You’re right — that is what he is doing — and it 
isn’t clean sport. He’s tricky — I’d like to see 
Harding beat him; but I’m afraid he can’t. He’s 
soft yet for we haven’t had more than two week’s 
skating here, and this chap has probably been at it 
for two months or more up north.” 

“Oh, Frank, isn’t he skating fair? Do you think 
he’s going to beat Mr. Harding?” Chicken Little 
was genuinely distressed. 

“Can’t tell, Chicken, watch and see!” 

The racers turned the end of the pond for the 
second time and came swiftly past — Harding about 
the same distance behind the other as before. Again 
they turned and shot past for the third round, the 
stranger still pursuing his tactics of interfering with 
his rival. 

“Jove, that makes me hot!” Frank exclaimed 
wrathfully. “I believe Harding could beat him on 
a fair and square race.” 

“Gee, I wish we could make him give way once 
himself, the scoundrel!” Ernest shook his fist 
viciously at Sanders’ back. 


Skating 171 

“If he had to turn out just once would it help Mr. 
Harding?” demanded Jane. 

Her own party were so intent upon the race that 
no one replied, but Pat, who had just skated up, 
answered her question himself when he found the 
others were ignoring it. 

“It’d help — but sure Mr. Harding’s too grand a 
gentleman to do that kind of dirty work!” 

“Oh, I just wish we could make him turn out!” 

No one heeded her but Pat and he replied only 
with a grin. 

Chicken Little clasped and unclasped her hands 
nervously. The men had made their last turn and 
were heading swiftly toward them on the home 
stretch. Harding had gained a little on his antag- 
onist and was scarcely three feet behind. 

“He is gaining — if Sanders will only play fair!” 
said Frank tensely, his eyes glued on the two dark 
forms. 

The words were scarcely out of his mouth when 
Sanders made a feint to cross directly in front of 
his competitor and Harding lost a length in conse- 
quence. 

“Confound him!” growled Frank, “the judges 
oughtn’t to stand for that!” 

Chicken Little stood fascinated, gazing at the ad- 
vancing figures. 

Her small fists clenched as she saw Harding drop 


172 Chicken Little Jane 

the few paces behind. Suddenly an idea popped into 
her head. Forgetful of her own uncertain feet, and 
both ignorant and reckless of any danger, she darted 
forward, a small red danger signal directly in front 
of Mr. Sanders as he came opposite. The annoyed 
racer swerved quickly to the right, but poor Jane 
once started could not stop, and would have fallen a 
scarlet heap in Dick Harding’s path had not Pat, 
divining her intention, followed swiftly and grabbing 
her by the shoulder steered her in a sharp curve out 
of the way. She got a good scolding from both 
Frank and Marian when Pat brought her back to 
them. 

“You might have been hurt — you almost spoiled 
the race — don’t you ever do anything so foolhardy 
again, Jane.” This from Marian. 

Frank was still more severe. “Pm ashamed of 
you, Sis. Did you suppose Dick Harding would be 
willing to win the race by a trick — besides you nearly 
tripped him. If Pat hadn’t been so quick there would 
have been a bad mix-up.” 

Chicken Little scarcely heeded at first because 
from the far end of the pond a shout went up, and 
looking with wide eyes, she saw the dark stranger 
and Mr. Harding slip over the line together — it was 
a tie! 

Then Frank’s words began to sink in. The idea 
that she might have hurt or disgraced her beloved 


Skating 173 

Mr. Harding frightened her much more than the 
possible danger to herself. Her eyes filled with tears 
and though she tried valiantly to wink them away, 
they soon overflowed. 

Katy and Gertie eyed her curiously, and Frank 
and Marian though they felt sorry for the child, 
felt that she needed a lesson. Ernest returning from 
the finish, felt called upon to rub it in still further. 

“What in the dickens were you trying fo do, Jane 
Morton, were you crazy?” 

Chicken Little answered never a word, but the 
tears dripped faster and an observing person would 
have noticed that the child was digging her finger 
nails into her palms to keep back the sobs. But her 
family was too disgusted with her to be either 
sympathetic or observing. They scarcely noticed that 
she was loitering behind. 

She had no definite purpose till she saw they were 
about to pass Dick Harding who was the center of 
an admiring group. This was more than she could 
stand, and dropping a little farther behind, she 
slipped into the crowd and started off in the opposite 
direction. No one missed her for a time as they all 
stopped to congratulate Dick. It was not until he 
inquired what the child had been trying to do in her 
reckless dash, that her absence was discovered. 

“Oh, Frank, I am afraid we were too hard on 
her!” exclaimed Marian. 


Chicken Little Jane 


174 

Frank himself looked anxious for it was fast 
growing dusk. He scanned the thinning crowd on 
the pond sharply — no little red figure was to be 
seen. 

“She can’t have gone far!” he said now genuinely 
alarmed. 

“Marian, you go on home with the children and 
I’ll find her.” 

“Let me go with you — poor little girlie she was 
trying her small best to help me.” Harding was 
scanning the pond narrowly as he spoke. 

“I believe she must be behind that big tree across 
there. She could hardly have got completely out of 
sight any place else.” 

Dick Harding fastened on his skates and hurried 
across the pond to a big oak, which stood flanked 
by a clump of bushes close to the edge of the bank. 

Sure enough, Chicken Little had flung herself 
down in the snow behind the tree, and was sobbing 
her heart out. He lifted her tenderly. 

“Dear me, little friend, this won’t do — where’s 
my little champion who tried to help me win the 
race just now?” 

Chicken Little hushed her sobs in astonishment. 

“Frank said — he said — he ” the tears were 

coming again, “he said I’d disgraced you and I 
didn’t think — you’d ever speak to me again!” 

“Nonsense, Jane, listen to me. I am proud and 


Skating 175 

happy that you wanted to help me — it wasn’t the 
best way to do it, but you didn’t know. Now come, 
dry your tears and let’s hurry back to the others — 
they thought they’d lost you.” 

“And you aren’t ashamed of me?” 

“Ashamed of you? Bless your heart, I am proud 
to have such a staunch friend.” 




CHICKEN • IHTLE -JANES 

birthday 

February was birthday month in the Morton 
family. Jane’s came first on the thirteenth, Er- 
nest’s on the twenty-second, and Mrs. Morton 
came near having a birthday only once in four years, 
for hers was on the twenty-eighth. 

“My, I’d hate to be born on the thirteenth. Cousin 
May says thirteen is awfully unlucky,” said Katy 
impressively, when Chicken Little told her the fate- 
ful date. 

“Yes, but you see I was born on Sunday, too, and 
Sunday’s the very luckiest day there is to be born 
on.” 

“Yes, Jane, ‘Blithe and bonny and good and gay, 
is the child who is born on the Sabbath day,’ ” 
chanted Marian, who was sitting by the window 
176 




Chicken Little Jane’s Birthday 177 

sewing. “You have something to live up to, little 
sister, if you are all that.” 

“I’m glad my birthday isn’t coming on Sunday 
this year,” said Jane thoughtfully. “It did one year 
and I couldn’t have a party or nothing. I do think 
Sunday is the inconvenientest day — I wish God 
hadn’t ever thought to make it!” 

“But we need one day of rest,” said Marian, 
struggling with a laugh. 

“Ye — es, but I think we get enough rest sleeping 
nights; I think Sundays are awful tiring, — you have 
to work so hard remembering what you can’t do.” 

“I like Sundays,” said Gertie, “ ’cause Father’s 
home and he reads to us Sunday afternoons.” 

“Father takes a nap, you can hear him all over 
the house — and Mother tells us to be quiet so we 
won’t wake him. ’Sides your mother lets you do 
more things.” 

“I guess your folks are religiouser than ours,” 
said Katy complacently. 

“You think it is more religious to sleep Sunday 
afternoons, Katy?” interposed Marian smiling. 

“Well, you can’t do anything bad when you are 
asleep,” replied Katy a little confused, but bound to 
stick to her point. 

“Not a bad idea — whenever I am tempted to be 
bad after this, I’ll take a nap and throw the devil 
off the track that way.” 


Chicken Little Jane 


178 

“My mother says it isn’t nice to talk about the 
devil.” Katy looked so gravely disapproving 
that Marian had hard work to keep her face 
straight. 

“Oh, excuse me — I’ll be careful not to mention 
his Satanic majesty again. Well, Chicken Little, are 
you going to have a birthday party this year?” 

“Not a really party, but Mother said I could have 
Katy and Gertie and Grace Dart come to tea. 
There’s going to be a sure enough birthday cake with 
candles and my name and age in pink frosting — and 
we’re going to have chocolate creams — and all the 
dolls.” 

“I shall bring Violet — she’s got a new dress and 
she’s just had her hair glued on — I curled it on the 
curling iron,” said Gertie. 

“I’m going to bring my nigger Dinah and you can 
play she helps wait on the table,” put in Katy. 

“Dear me, is that the latest thing in dolldom, to 
have the guests wait on the table?” quizzed Ma- 
rian. 

“I guess it would be all right to play she did,” 
Jane responded with a grin. 

“Your mother’s birthday comes soon. What are 
you going to give her, Jane?” 

“Yes, and Ernest’s too, his is the twenty-second.” 

“And Valentine’s day comes the fourteenth — just 
the day after your birthday.” 


Chicken Little Jane’s Birthday 179 

“Yes, Father says I was intended for a valentine 
only I was mailed too soon. I was just wondering 
what I could give Mother, Marian, — and Ernest. 
I’ve only got sixteen cents. I don’t think birthdays 
ought to come so near Christmas.” 

“Sixteen cents isn’t much for two presents, is it? 
We’ll have to put our thinking caps on. Let me see. 
How would you like to make Mother a little tidy 
for her rocking chair? I think I have a pie‘ce of 
honey-comb canvas left that would be just about the 
right size — you might do a Greek border with rose- 
colored worsted. It’s fast work. You could do it 
easily.” 

“Oh, Marian, you do think of the nicest things!” 
and Chicken Little got up impulsively to give her a 
grateful hug. 

“But Ernest will be harder — he wouldn’t care for 
fancy work.” 

“He wants a new base ball — an awfully hard one 
like Carol’s.” 

“Frank can get him that. I’ll tell you, Chicken 
Little, I believe he’d like a nice strong bag for his 
marbles — it won’t be long till marble time now. But, 
perhaps, we can think up something else.” 

“I wisht you’d come to my tea party, Marian.” 

“I’d be charmed to, and I’ll bring my old doll, 
Seraphina. She is huge and hasn’t any nose left 
and only one eye. Will she be welcome in this 


180 Chicken Little Jane 

wounded state or had we better put her in a 
hospital?” 

“Oh, Marian, will you? — I’d love to see her.” 

“She’s down in the bottom of a trunk, but I am 
sure she would be delighted to get out in the world 
again. What are you looking at with those big eyes 
of yours, Katy?” 

“I was just thinking she must be awful old.” 

“She is — frightfully — almost as old as I am. My 
aunt brought her to me from Paris when I was just 
seven. She was elegant then — all pink silk ruffles 
with a little wreath of forget-me-nots in her hair. 
I crowed over all the children I knew because she 
was so fine, but I must be getting home. Children 
dear, I wonder if your mothers would mind if you 
ran down to the postoffice to mail this letter for me. 
I want it to get off on the five o’clock train.” 

Chicken Little’s boasted luck seemed about to fail 
her entirely on her birthday morning. She got up 
late and was so excited over her little remembrances 
that she almost forgot to get ready for school. She 
ran as hard as she could, so hard she had a stitch in 
her side, but the last child in the line was disappear- 
ing inside the school-house door, when she was still 
half a block away. 

She knew what that meant. Miss Brown had a 
harsh rule for tardy pupils — they stayed one-half 


Chicken Little Jane’s Birthday 181 

hour after school, rain or shine. And to stay in a 
half hour on one’s birthday with a party on foot 
was unthinkable. Why it would be most dark when 
she got home! And her mother — well, maybe her 
mother wouldn’t say very much since it was her 
birthday, but Jane wasn’t keen about hearing what 
she would say. 

She dragged herself reluctantly up the stairs, tak- 
ing an unnecessarily long time to hang up her wraps 
and it was fully five minutes past nine when she took 
her seat. Miss Brown looked severe. 

“You understand this means thirty minutes after 
school. I have told you I will not tolerate tardiness.” 

Chicken Little didn’t try to catch up with Katy 
and Gertie going home that noon. She plodded along 
soberly by herself with such a forlorn air that Dick 
Harding, just behind her on his way to his own 
lunch, was struck by it, and overtook her to find out 
what was amiss now. 

“Have to stay after school on a birthday — well, 
that is tough. I see plainly you need the services of a 
lawyer. I guess I’ll have to take this under advise- 
ment and see what can be done. You know it’s my 
turn to help you out. Clear up that solemn face, 
Chicken Little, — that’s better — I see the smile com- 
ing. I’ll tell you — wait by the school gate when you 
come back from dinner and I’ll think up some way 
to mend matters.” 


182 


Chicken Little Jane 


Chicken Little hurried through her dinner and 
back to school, posting herself expectantly to watch 
for Dick Harding. She did not have long to wait. 
Mr. Harding had hurried, too, on her account. 

“I have been considering this, Jane. I don’t 
believe it would be quite fair to the other pupils to 
persuade Miss Brown to let you off, as I at first 
thought of doing. Do you think it would?” 

Richard Harding regarded the child keenly, 
curious to see whether she would see the point. 

Chicken Little looked up at him soberly. 

“No, I guess it’s just as bad to be late on your 
birthday as any other time. And I s’pose if Miss 
Brown let me go she’d have to let the rest go, too. 
And I guess there wouldn’t be any rule if she did 
that.” 

“Right you are, but I think I have a plan that 
won’t be unfair to anybody and will still keep the 
birthday intact. We couldn’t have the birthday hurt 
you know, Chicken Little. It’s such a little young 
birthday — it might cry!” Dick Harding smiled 
down at her whimsically and Jane smiled under- 
standing^ back. 

“Why don’t you ask me what my plan is? You 
haven’t the proper amount of feminine curiosity.” 

Chicken Little smiled again — a confiding little 
smile. 

“How would it do, Chicken Little Jane, if I 


Chicken Little Jane’s Birthday 183 

should get a cutter with two gray horses and lots of 
bells — real noisy bells — and call for your guests first, 
then come here to the school after you? We could 
go for a nice sleigh ride before that supper 
party.” 

Chicken Little’s face lit up as instantaneously as 
if someone had just turned on an electric light before 
it. She gave one blissful “Oh” then stopped. “If 
Mother ” she said. 

“ ‘If Mother’ is all attended to. I met your father 
and he said he would make it all right with your 
mother. So if Miss Jane Morton will do me the 
honor to ride with me this afternoon, I shall con- 
sider the matter settled.” Dick Harding made an 
elaborate bow. 

Jane still beamed but found words difficult. 

“I’m waiting, Miss Morton, you’d better hurry — 
I think the bell is going to ring.” 

The child glanced back at the school house appre- 
hensively. 

“Course I want to — awfully, and — Mr. Hard- 
ing,” Chicken Little reached up to whisper some- 
thing and the tall man bent down. 

“I love you most as well as Brother Frank.” 

“Thank you, dear — I’ve never had a little sister. 
Don’t you think I might adopt a little piece of 
you?” 

“That’s what Alice said. She said little sisters 


Chicken Little Jane 


184 

were so nice and cuddly) — I think you and Alice are 
a lot alike, Mr. Harding.” 

“I’m flattered — in what way?” 

41 ’Cause you — she — why I guess ’cause you and 
she both know how little girls feel inside — and you’re 
so comforting.” 

‘‘Much obliged, little sister, I know Miss Alice 
deserves that nice compliment and I hope I do. Are 
you lonesome without her?” 

“Yes, only when I’m with you it always seems as 
if she were close by, too.” 

“Happy thought! Perhaps, it’s because I’m par- 
tial to being in her neighborhood myself. There 
goes the bell — I’ll be here at 4:30 sharp.” 

Chicken Little was not the only unfortunate that 
afternoon. Two small boys were late at noon and 
Miss Brown set them all to writing long lists from 
their spellers as soon as the other children filed out. 
Chicken Little watched the clock anxiously, starting 
up at every distant tinkle of sleigh bells. It was a 
glorious clear crisp afternoon and the jingle of bells 
sounded at frequent intervals. 

Her excitement rose as half-past four approached. 
Finally, just as the clock chimed the half hour, an 
answering chime tinkled in the distance and two or 
three minutes later, ceased suddenly in front of the 
school building. 

Chicken Little ran quickly down the walk and 


Chicken Little Jane’s Birthday 185 

there they all were. Dick Harding had a lovely 
double-seated cutter with white horses and two gay 
strings of sleigh bells on each horse. Packed snugly 
in under the bright colored robes were Katy and 
Gertie and Grace and sister Marian — and the entire 
family of dolls. Dick Harding had insisted on the 
dolls. He said he never approved of parents leaving 
their offspring at home to cry their eyes out, while 
they went skylarking. 

Katy had secured the place next to their host and 
Chicken Little looked enviously as she started to 
climb in. But Dick Harding made room for her 
beside him, saying finally: 

“I believe I am to have the honor of having Miss 
Morton and the birthday sit beside me.” 

A shadow of disappointment crossed Katy’s face. 
Marian made a little sign to Jane and the child 
responded bravely. 

“I guess Katy ought to have the best place ’cause 
she’s company.” 

“The queen has spoken,” replied Dick Harding 
with an approving smile. “Perhaps, I might hold 
the birthday on my lap.” 

“I wouldn’t trust him with it Jane. Young lawyers 
always want to be older than they are,” laughed 
Marian. 

Jane made an elaborate pretense of handing over 
the birthday. 


Chicken Little Jane 


186 

“You see Chicken Little Jane has a better opinion 
of me than you,” retorted Dick. “Miss Morton, 
which way shall we go ?” 

The children were riotously happy. Mr. Harding 
let each child choose a direction to turn, and they 
whirled around corners and drove by each small 
guest’s home in great state, so that mothers and 
sisters might see. 

Bright hoods and caps and coats made the sleigh 
load look like a nosegay and Dick Harding treated 
them all with an exaggerated courtesy that kept them 
merry. 

They landed at the Morton front gate at six 
o’clock. It was quite dark but the street lamps were 
lit and the cheer of gas and firelight streamed out 
from the old gabled house invitingly. 

“This was a mighty sweet thing to do, Dick,” 
said Marian as he helped her out. 

“The pleasure is mine,” he responded gallantly, 
“further I’m going to claim a toll of one kiss and 
a half from every passenger under twelve years of 
age.” 

The toll was paid promptly. He was most exact- 
ing as to the half kiss, demanding full measure. 
Marian insisted that the dolls came under the ruling, 
too, but he begged off. He said he felt it would be 
taking unfair advantage of their extreme youth. 

But Chicken Little and Katy were too much for 


Chicken Little Jane’s Birthday 187 

him. They declared that Marian’s doll was older 
than any of them. So Mr. Harding duly took a peck 
at Seraphina’s pallid cheek to the huge delight of 
the children. 

The hot biscuit and chicken tasted doubly delicious 
after the long ride in the sharp air. Grace Dart took 
two servings of quince preserves but declined the 
apple butter saying she could get that at home. 

At the close of the repast Dr. and Mrs. Morton 
and Frank and Ernest came in to share the birthday 
cake. Ernest was the only one who could blow out 
all the candles at one fell swoop. When the last 
morsel had vanished Chicken Little had another 
surprise. Dr. Morton went out into the hall and 
pulled a large white envelope out of his overcoat 
pocket addressed to “Miss Jane Morton.’* It was 
postmarked Cincinnati. 

“Oh, it’s something from Alice — I just know — 
open it quick!” 

“Bet it’s a valentine,” guessed Ernest. 

“Yes, it looks like one of those beautiful lacy 
ones with hearts and doves on it,” said Katy. 

It not only looked, it was — the very fluffiest, laciest 
one Jane had ever seen, with marvellous cupids and 
hearts, and forget-me-nots and true lover’s knots of 
blue ribbon. In a little white envelope inside was 
a tiny gold ring. 

Chicken Little gave one squeal of ecstasy: 


i88 


Chicken Little Jane 


“Isn’t it cunning — I always wanted a ring. What- 
ever do you s’pose made Alice think of it?” 

“She didn’t,” said Mrs. Morton, “the valentine is 
from Alice, but her Uncle Joseph sent the ring. It 
seems he liked your letter and when Alice mentioned 
getting the valentine he wanted to send something 
too. You’ll have to write him another letter to thank 
him.” 

“That reminds me that I saw Gassett on the street 
this morning. He looks pretty badly still,” re- 
marked Dr. Morton. 

“Well, he can’t get Alice’s papers now ’cause she’s 
got them way off in Cincinnati,” said Chicken Little. 

“Huh, that doesn’t make any difference — they 
could make her send them back,” Ernest replied. 

Chicken Little turned to her father. 

“No need to borrow trouble, Chicken, Alice has 
an Uncle Joseph to look after her now, anyway. 
Has it been a happy birthday, pet?” 



*4sr^- 


chapter.- xn 

POOR- ERXEST • A2sD 

PCDPcjMARIAN 


Ernest was so tired of being pitied he was in open 
rebellion. 

“For goodness’ sake, don’t ‘poor’ me any more! 
My eyes will be all right as soon as they get a good 
rest — the doctor said so. I guess I can stand it if 
they don’t hurt like sin. Everybody comes in like a 
funeral procession asking me how I feel, and hoping 
it will be a lesson to me to take better care of my 
eyes. People needn’t rub it in because a fellow’s 
down — and the last thing he wants to think of is how 
he feels!” 

“I think you must be feeling better, Ernest, or you 
wouldn’t be so cross,” retorted Marian slyly. 

Ernest relaxed his gloom enough to grin. 

“Well, I don’t care — Mother hangs around baby- 
ing me as if I were six years old!” 

189 


Chicken Little Jane 


190 

Ernest’s catastrophe had come about so gradually 
no one had suspected it. He was reading a letter 
from Alice, who wrote a fine close hand, when his 
father noticed that he was holding the paper almost 
to his eyes. An examination revealed the fact that 
the poor eyes were sadly overstrained and would 
have to have a complete rest for weeks or his eye- 
sight would be permanently injured. 

This was distressing news to bookworm Ernest 
who was never so happy as when lost in a book. The 
lad was immensely proud of his school stand- 
ing, too, and he chafed sadly at the thought of 
losing it. 

“No school for three months, Son,” his father 
said sorrowfully after the boy’s eyes had been thor- 
oughly tested. 

“It must be a dark room and a bandage for three 
weeks at the very least, Dr. Allerton says.” 

Ernest groaned and growled rather more than 
usual to keep from breaking down and playing the 
baby, when he heard this verdict. 

“It was all that confounded scroll work!” 

“I am afraid so — you remember your mother 
warned you against selecting all those intricate pat- 
terns.” 

Ernest remembered only too distinctly, but he pre- 
ferred not to be reminded of it. 

“Is there anything a fellow can do?” he demanded 


Poor Ernest and Poor Marian 191 

after three horrid days of close confinement with 
the blinds down. 

“Not much, poor boy, I’m afraid,” Mrs. Morton 
replied pityingly. “I’ll read to you a couple of hours 
this morning and perhaps Sherm and Carol will come 
in for a while after school. I’ll send word to them 
by Chicken Little. Mrs. Dart sent you over one of 
her custard pies just now.” 

The custard pie sounded comforting. 

“How long is it till dinner time?” 

“Only about three hours — we might let you have 
a taste now if you are impatient,” Mrs. Morton said. 

“Oh, I can wait but the hours seem so plaguey 
long when you can’t see. Read me Alice’s letter 
again, will you? Gee, I wish she were here — she 
always knew how to help a chap out.” 

“Better than mother?” Mrs. Morton couldn’t 
help feeling a trifle nettled. 

Ernest felt the tone. 

“Oh, Mumsey, you’re a brick, but Alice can always 
think up things — you know? Of course, she isn’t 
like your mother.” Ernest reached for his mother’s 
dress and pulling her head down gave her a kiss — 
an unusual mark of affection. 

It wrung Mrs. Morton’s heart to see him grope 
to find her. 

It took her a moment to compose herself before 


Chicken Little Jane 


192 

she went over to the window and raised the blind 
enough to see to read the letter. 

Alice had written jubilantly of her progress. 

“I am so happy today over a compliment — 
doesn’t that sound vain? — that I am going to sit 
right down and share it with you. I should like to 
get up on a fence like that little bantam rooster of 
Darts’ and crow it to all the world. Mrs. Martin, 
our principal, told me this morning I had done won- 
ders in three months ! And I was so stupid at first 
— French and Geometry seemed absolutely impos- 
sible. I used to put myself to sleep saying those 
awful French verbs. If the French had invented 
those verbs on purpose I’d never forgive them. But 
I suppose your language is like the color of your 
hair — you’re not responsible. Funny how little of 
us is us, and how much is somebody else, isn’t it? 
Tell Ernest the first ten pages of Geometry would 
have floored me completely if I hadn’t remembered 
how patiently he used to saw round all those curves 
and curlicues in that scroll-work. Every time I flung 
the old book down and said ‘I can’t,’ I seemed to see 
Ernest bent over that old scroll saw cutting Geometry 
out of wood. I could not let a fourteen year old boy 
beat me. Now the figures are getting as tame as 
kittens which reminds me of Jane’s kitten. 

“We call her Poky Pry because she is always pok- 
ing her inquisitive nose into places where she has no 


Poor Ernest and Poor Marian 193 

business. I was afraid they might not want her here, 
but she frisked her way into favor at once. Her 
usual place for a morning nap is in Aunt Clara’s work 
basket. We found her once in Uncle Joseph’s silk 
hat. Another time she got shut in a bureau drawer 
and miauwed pitifully to be let out. But her funniest 
adventure was going downtown. Uncle Joseph got 
on the horse car one morning and was talking to a 
friend when they! heard a soft purring. ‘What on 
earth is that — it sounds like a cat?’ asked the other 
man. They both looked all around. As soon as 
Uncle Joseph moved, the sound ceased. When they 
settled down to talk again the purring began again. 
‘Well, I never!’ said Uncle Joseph. He made an- 
other search even getting down to look under the 
car seat. The sound ceased the moment he began 
to hunt. ‘Pshaw,’ said hjs friend, ‘somebody is play- 
ing a trick on us. I’ve heard of people who can 
throw their voices so the sound seems to come from 
some other place.’ So they settled down once more, 
and once more the purring began and grew louder. 
Uncle Joseph got fidgety. His friend watched the 
lips of the other passengers to see who was hoaxing 
them. ‘It sounds,’ he remarked finally, ‘as if it came 
from your overcoat pocket !’ — Uncle Joseph plunged 
his hand down into his pocket and felt soft warm 
fur. The whole car shouted when he drew Poky 
Pry out. 


194 Chicken Little Jane 

“I wonder if I told Chicken Little how Poky 
frightened the Pullman porter. She was sound 
asleep in her basket and I put it at the lower end of 
the berth, carelessly leaving the cover off. The 
porter was making up the next berth to mine. Sud- 
denly I heard a wild shriek, and, parting my curtains, 
saw the porter dashing down the aisle with Poky 
Pry clinging distractedly to his kinky black head. 
She had crept out of her basket and made her way 
to the berth above the one he was making, to 
watch him. When he straightened up she evidently 
thought his wooly hair some new variety of mouse 
and she made a spring for it. 

“Tell Chicken Little, Kitty has kept me from being 
lonesome and is a great comfort. Uncle Joseph 
keeps asking questions about Chicken Little. His 
girls are all boys and grown up. He was so pleased 
with her note thanking him for the ring. He chuck- 
led over her skating adventure for days. ‘Starting 
out pretty young to straighten up the world, isn’t 
she?’ he remarked.” 

“Chicken Little Jane is a very rash child, I’m 
afraid,” Mrs. Morton said as she laid down the let- 
ter a few moments later. “I only hope she won’t 
get into trouble some day on account of it.” 

“Don’t worry, Mother, she always comes out all 
right.” 

Jane came up at noon to bring Ernest his dinner 


Poor Ernest and Poor Marian 195 

— a dinner in which a generous quarter of the cus- 
tard pie played an important part. Sherm and Carol 
would come right from school she told him. Chicken 
Little had established herself as head nurse out of 
school hours. She felt very important and amused 
Ernest with her airs. 

The boys were good as their word that after- 
noon and she met them with a life-like imitation of 
her mother’s manner, admonishing them not to get 
Ernest excited. As a result the boys lumbered in 
self-conscious and awkward. Never having paid a 
sick-room visit before, they were rather overpowered 
by Ernest’s bandaged eyes and the twilight gloom 
the doctor prescribed. So much so in fact, that they 
nearly defeated the object of their visit, which was 
to cheer Ernest up. Indeed they were so stiff and 
sympathetic that Ernest gruffly requested them to 
drop that and tell him about school. Tongues 
limbered up immediately at this, for each boy had 
a grievance. 

“You can be jolly glad you ain’t there. Old Gog- 
gle-eyes gave us two pages of Algebra — 20 prob- 
lems ! I spent a whole hour on the first ten and I’m 
shaky about them now. Oh, he’s a honey, he is — the 
dried up old crank. I’ll bet he was old when Me- 
thuselah was born.” 

“Well, I’d rather tackle Goggle-eyes and minus 
X than write compositions for Miss Halliday on 


Chicken Little Jane 


196 

Spring Flowers — Sper-ing Flow-ers,” Carol sim- 
pered gently, and, letting his hands fall limp from the 
wrists, fluttered imaginary skirts in a fantastic prom- 
enade across the room. 

“ ‘You must cultivate the love of the be-utiful — 
contemplate birds — and lovely flowers and express 
what they mean to you,’ ” he quoted in a high pitched 
voice. “Holy smoke, I had a notion to tell her that 
spring flowers meant digging dandelions at five cents 
a thousand, when I wanted to go fishing ! She might 
at least save ’em till the ground thaws — it’s colder 
than Greenland out today.” 

“Yes, Father says we’re in for a blizzard to- 
night.” 

“You might tell her the blizzard nipped all the 
flowers in the bud, Carol.” 

“Nope, I’ll put it on the list of things I’m thank- 
ful for next Thanksgiving, that there aren’t any 
plaguey spring flowers in bloom to write about.” 

“Say, Pat’s got your seat. But he wouldn’t let 
Old Goggle-eyes take your things out. He said there 
was plenty of room for them. He’s got them 
stacked up in one end of the desk all ship-shape. 
He’s going to be on our nine next summer.” 

The boys were performing their mission nobly. 
Ernest began to feel actually consoled for missing 
school. 

“I won three agates and a chiny off Fatty 


Poor Ernest and Poor Marian 197 

Grover — like to froze my fingers too. We got down 
behind the coal house out of the wind, but it didn’t 
help much.” 

“Thought Fatty darsent play keeps?” 

“Well, I guess his dad’d lick him if he found out 
— s’pose he’d most have to, being the Minister — but 
Fatty’s game — he won’t blab. Aren’t they 
beauties?” 

Ernest gave a little gesture of impatience and 
Sherm suddenly remembered the bandaged eyes. 

“Oh, say, I didn’t go to ” he began penitently. 

Mrs. Morton appeared opportunely at this mo- 
ment with a plate of hot doughnuts, a little anxious 
lest the boys should fall to romping. 

Poor Marian’s trouble began two weeks after Er- 
nest’s and proved to be much more serious. She had 
sympathized deeply with the bookloving boy in his 
irksome confinement, and she had been more than 
faithful about coming over to read or talk to him. 
It was coming through a storm to keep her promise 
to him that proved her own undoing. 

She had a hard cold already — March had been 
continuously raw and blustery. The last day of the 
month had brought with it the worst blizzard of the 
season. A cutting wind swept down from the north 
and the snow was icy hard and stinging. Marian 
watched the storm from her windows for some time 
before she could get up courage to venture out. But 


Chicken Little Jane 


198 

Mother Morton’s was only three blocks away and 
she knew Ernest would be doubly disappointed if 
she failed to come because of the dreary day. So 
she wrapped up warmly and braved the elements. 
The three blocks seemed a mile before she covered 
them. She had to fight every inch in the teeth of 
the wind and reached the gabled house thoroughly 
chilled and spent. A bad attack of pneumonia fol- 
lowed this exposure, and Ernest’s troubles were al- 
most ignored in the anxiety about lovely Marian. 

The crisis passed safely by dint of loving care and 
good nursing, but her convalescence was slow. 
Ernest’s eyes were well and he was back in school 
before Marian dared leave the house. It grieved 
them all to see her so thin and white. 

Poor Ernest heard the story of her struggle with 
the blizzard for his” sake repeated so many times, as 
sympathetic friends called upon his mother, that the 
boy began to feel a personal responsibility for her 
illness. He didn’t say anything but he hovered 
around her as soon as he was permitted to go out, 
spending every cent of his slender pin money in 
dainties and flowers which he seldom presented to 
her directly. He would leave them on her bed or 
on the dining-room table with never a word. Frank 
and Marian were pleased and touched by his devo- 
tion. They laughed together over his bashful ways 
without suspecting that the lad was worried. 


Poor Ernest and Poor Marian 199 

It was Chicken Little who finally wormed his 
trouble out of him. 

“Gee, I wish I had some decent marbles. Sherm’s 
got a stunner of an onyx and six flints and ” 

“Why Ernest Morton, I thought Father gave 
you a quarter last night to get some.” 

Ernest grinned in embarassed silence. 

Chicken Little regarded him suspiciously. 

“What did you do with it?” 

Ernest did not deign to reply. 

“Bet you spent it for those grapes for Marian.” 

Ernest drummed on the window. 

“She doesn’t ’spect you to take your marble money 
for her, goosie. Say, Ernest, what’s the matter?” 

The boy swallowed painfully. 

“Tell me, Ernest, I won’t tell. Honest to good- 
ness, I won’t.” Jane cuddled up close to him laying 
her face against his shoulder caressingly. 

Ernest was not proof against her sympathy and 
he blurted out his remorse. 

“ ’Tisn’t your fault a speck — you didn’t tease her 
to come.” 

Chicken Little patted and argued in vain. Ernest 
found her comforting, but did not feel that she was 
old enough to understand. 

Chicken Little took the matter up with Marian the 
very next day. She began very diplomatically be- 
cause she had promised not to tell. 


200 Chicken Little Jane 

“Do you s’pose you’d got sick if you hadn’t come 
to see Ernest that day, Marian?” 

“Probably not, dear.” 

This was not reassuring. 

“But you might have gone some place else, 
mightn’t you?” 

“I suppose so — only I don’t think I should have 
been silly enough to go out in that storm without a 
good reason.” 

“But it wasn’t Ernest’s fault it stormed,” Jane re- 
plied plaintively. 

“Ernest’s fault? Why, what do you mean?” 
Marian looked at the child in astonishment. 

Jane’s face was very sober. 

“I just guess he couldn’t help if it you got all cold 
and •” 

“Of course not, Jane, what put such an idea into 
your head! I should have had more sense than to 
venture out in such a storm. Does Ernest — is that 
why he brings me all those things and hangs round 
so? — the poor boy? Dear me, this will never 
do.” 

“He wouldn’t like it if he knew I told you,” said 
Chicken Little ruefully. 

“You haven’t told me, dear. I guessed it, but 
I’ll find a way to stop his worrying.” 

April came and went and Marian was still pale 
and weak. Dr. Morton looked grave and finally 


Poor Ernest and Poor Marian 201 


suggested to Frank that they should have the famous 
Dr. Brownleigh of Chicago down to examine 
Marian’s lungs. Frank went white at the sugges- 
tion, but quietly acquiesced. Two days later the 
great doctor arrived. 

Chicken Little knew there was some excitement 
afoot that morning when she went to school. Both 
Dr. and Mrs. Morton looked sad and Mrs. Morton 
sighed frequently. Ernest pushed most of his break- 
fast away untasted. 

“What time will he be here, Father?” 

“On the nine-thirty.” 

“Who?” Chicken Little demanded curiously. 

“A man you have never seen, little daughter,” 
her father replied quietly. 

So Chicken Little went off to school mystified but 
curious. 

The great physician did his work carefully. It 
was before the days of germ cultures, and the ap- 
paratus for such tests had not reached the perfec- 
tion of today. There was much room for profes- 
sional judgment. 

Dr. Morton and Marian’s mother were with 
Frank beside the bed. Frank looked miserably 
anxious in spite of his efforts at self control, and 
Marian’s big eyes were questioning and wistful. 

Dr. Brownleigh smiled cheerfully down at her as 
he finished. 


202 


Chicken Little Jane 


“Don’t be alarmed, Mrs. Morton, you will live 
to be a nice rosy-cheeked grandmother. I predict 
you’ll be plumper than your mother.” 

The tension was broken and Marian sighed with 
relief. 

“There, I told you it was silly to be scared about 
me, Frank. It always did take me a long time to 
recover from an illness — even a cold. I’m afraid 
I’m lazy — you didn’t know you had married a lazy 
wife did you?” Marian gave his hand a little loving 
pat and Frank silently stooped to kiss her, but he 
was not reassured. 

He had watched the varying expressions of the 
great doctor’s face and he was decidedly uneasy. 
With reason, he found when he accompanied his 
father and Dr. Brownleigh back to the old home. 

Once inside the little sitting room Dr. Brownleigh 
turned to him gravely. 

“Mr. Morton, your face tells me that you have 
read mine. Please don’t make the mistake of im- 
agining your wife is worse than she is. Her right 
lung is considerably affected, I am sorry to say. The 
left one seems to be perfectly sound there is no 
reason with proper care and a change of climate why 
she should not live for years.” 

“Change of climate? — that means what — a few 
months or a permanent move?” 


Poor Ernest and Poor Marian 203 

“A year at the least — I should advise a permanent 
change to Kansas or Colorado or Arizona. She 
needs a dryer and more even climate, plenty of fresh 
air and an out-door life.” 

Frank groaned. His father laid his hand on his 
shoulder sympathetically. 

“It is hard, my boy, when you have such a good 
position here, too. Brace up — we’ll find a way out 
— and Marian may be completely cured — remember 
that.” 

Many were the consultations in the Morton and 
Gates homes during the next few weeks. It was 
agreed not to tell Marian her weakness till she was 
able to be out again. In the meantime it was ar- 
ranged that Dr. Morton should take a trip west to 
look up a suitable location. 

Without telling her the real reason, Frank had 
talked Marian into the idea of ranching and the 
older people found her eager zest and enthusiasm 
for the new life, pathetic. 

“I know I’ll be lots stronger on a farm,” she de- 
clared. “I shall have chickens and make butter. You 
can all come out and spend the summers — won’t that 
be grand?” 

Dr. Morton had offered to buy a ranch for Frank 
taking over their cozy Centerville home in part pay- 
ment. Ernest had been taken into the family 
councils and understood all this. He was a reserved 


204 Chicken Little Jane 

serious lad who could be depended upon not to talk. 
But Chicken Little was not so favored. She knew 
only that Father was going on a long journey out 
west, and she did not concern herself as to his 
errand. 



I 


ijkjrsjL x JL/lV 

FORBIDDEN • BOOKS -AND 
CANDY- HEAKHS 


During the weeks of worry over Ernest’s eyes 
and the deeper anxiety over Marian’s tragic 
weakness, Chicken Little was left much to her own 
devices. Mrs. Morton was too overburdened and 
harassed to give the child the usual care and over- 
sight. Sewing lessons were dropped entirely and 
practising was so irregular that her music teacher 
was in despair. Fortunately the days were short 
and Jane didn’t have much time out of school hours 
to get into mischief. While Ernest was shut in, she 
spent most of her play time faithfully trying to 
amuse him. But after he got out she proved the 
truth of the old adage of Satan and the idle hands. 

Mrs. Morton always watched Chicken Little’s 
reading most carefully for the child bade fair to be 
205 


206 


Chicken Little Jane 


as much of a bookworm as Ernest. She was never 
permitted to borrow books from other children with- 
out having Mother look them over. 

Miss Brown’s room at school was cursed with the 
usual abnormal pupil in a silly overgrown girl called 
Sary Myers. Sary’s parents were shiftless and ig- 
norant people and though Sary was almost fifteen 
years old, and a woman in size, she was still among 
children of ten and eleven. 

She was a good-natured girl, always willing to 
pet and humor the little girls, and they liked her in a 
half contemptuous patronizing way. Sary came to 
school one day with a book done up carefully in a 
newspaper. She was very mysterious about it taking 
it out of her desk when Miss Brown’s back was 
turned, pointing to it with smirks and nods till the 
little girls were so curious, they could hardly wait 
for recess to see the wonderful volume. 

At recess it went the rounds, Sary assuring them 
that it was a grand story with lots about love and 
getting married, and that there was a woman in it 
who treated a girl just terrible. 

Chicken Little was not in the least interested in 
love or lovers, but she was not proof against Sary’s 
mysterious manner. She promptly begged the loan 
of the precious book till noon. But there was only 
time for aggravating peeps in the short hour filled 
with recitations. So she coaxed Sary to let her take 


Forbidden Books and Candy Hearts 207 

it home that night. Sary was easily persuaded. 
Reading was a painful process to her and she had 
been secretly hoping that one of the children would 
read the book and tell her the story. 

Chicken Little slipped it home guiltily hidden in 
her school bag. She found it a weighty responsibil- 
ity. No sooner had she ensconced herself snugly in 
one of the dormer windows to read, than she heard 
someone coming upstairs. It was only Olga. She 
thought possibly she would be safer in Ernest’s 
room, but Ernest and Carol were doing their algebra 
there. At last she settled down in the front parlor 
and by tea time was deep in the adventures of Rosa- 
mond Clifford, romantic and unreal enough to satisfy 
the most exacting child. 

For days the book was her constant companion 
outside of school hours. She read snatches of it to 
Sary and a chosen few in a corner of the schoolyard 
at recesses and noons. She hid it under her pillow 
ready for her devouring eyes at an early hour in the 
morning. To be sure Chicken Little never could 
wake up at an early hour, her mother having to call 
long and lustily before she could rouse her at all. 
Still the book was there if she should happen to 
want it. 

After Chicken Little finished it, the story was 
passed from hand to hand among the children. 
Gertie being the only one with sufficient firmness 


208 


Chicken Little Jane 


of character to decline to read it without asking 
Mother. One adventurous child discovered she 
could get other books by the same author from the 
public library. These the children also passed round 
and gloated over their lurid adventures for days. 
The stories were doubly fascinating because each 
small sinner realized that the mushy volumes must 
be carefully concealed from mothers and teachers. 
The craze ended finally by Miss Brown’s discovering 
a copy of “Cousin Maud” and confiscating it after 
a sharp lecture to the school on what children should 
read. 

But the mischief was done. Fully a dozen young 
heads seethed with romance. They imagined they 
were abused by unfeeling sisters or stern parents. 
They looked for unhappy lovers around every 
corner. They even tried to lie awake nights nursing 
broken hearts, but ten o’clock was the latest hour 
anyone reached, though Grace Dart said she knew 
she heard it strike one. Katy, indeed, walked in her 
sleep one night to her mother’s horror. Mrs. Hal- 
ford promptly gave her a liberal dose of castor oil 
and she was never able to repeat the wonderful 
feat. 

At least six dolls were re-christened Rosamond 
Clifford, and seven others promptly became Cousin 
Maud. Marbles and tag and the usual spring out- 
door sports were neglected while they planned doll 


Forbidden Books and Candy Hearts 209 

elopements or family quarrels, and locked the tiny 
heroines in dark closets. 

Chicken Little was in great demand on these oc- 
casions because she had learned some of the choicest 
scenes in the stories by heart and she would talk for 
the dolls. 

“My, you do Dr. Kennedy just grand!” said Katy 
stirred out of her usual calm by a thrilling scene in 
which her prettiest doll had defied a cruel step- 
father made from a stick of stove-wood. 

“It’s awful easy,” Jane responded modestly. 
“I’ve read it so often I can say it most all, and I just 
try to act mad.” 

The epidemic of play-acting among the dolls gave 
Katy’s practical talents a chance also. There was a 
great demand for boy dolls. One badly damaged 
tin soldier and a fat sailor boy were all that could be 
found. But Katy was ingenious. She took her 
tallest doll and made her a complete outfit of men’s 
clothes including a cunning straw hat with a black 
band. She sheared Angelina’s blonde wig short and 
painted a smart black mustache on her rose-bud 
mouth. 

Angie was so changed she wouldn’t have known 
herself in the glass. But she didn’t need to. She 
became Horatio Seymour and was never permitted 
to wear petticoats again. 

The other children were so charmed, Katy was 


210 


Chicken Little Jane 


besieged with teasing to make over their dolls. It 
was no small job and after being obliging once or 
twice, Katy had the happy thought of charging fif- 
teen cents for the transformation. 

This was more money than most of the little girls 
had, so they took to borrowing boy dolls. Horatio 
Seymour was much over-worked. He took the parts 
of villain, lover and irate father on an average of 
at least once every day and from two to three times 
on Saturdays. Katy had to put a little stick up his 
back-bone, he got so limp. 

But the interest in this doll lovering began to wane 
after a time. The children looked about for some- 
thing else exciting. They began to make Horatios 
out of the boys they knew. Some of the older girls 
started writing notes, and the smaller ones hung 
round breathlessly to hear the answers read. The 
boys were not always responsive. This was the 
height of the marble season and most of the 
lads were too crazy over the mooted question 
of “playing keeps” to care to spell out scrawly 
notes. 

“Who is your beau, Jane?” Grace Dart demanded 
one day. 

Chicken Little cherished a secret admiration for 
Carol, but she wouldn’t have betrayed it for worlds. 
Still she felt that she must claim somebody to be in 
the swim. She thought about it for several days and 


Forbidden Books and Candy Hearts 211 

finally announced proudly to Grace that Johnny 
Carter was her beau. 

“Why he’s the boy you slapped ! I thought you 
didn’t like him Jane.” 

“I don’t so very well,” confessed Chicken Little 
reluctantly. “That’s the reason I took him. Don’t 
you see — I’m going to reform him.” 

Grace looked decidedly puzzled. 

“Yes, like the heroines do in books.” 

“What you going to do to Johnny?” 

But Jane had it all thought out. 

“His hands most always need washing awful 
bad — I did think of that, but they don’t seem ever 
to begin with hands. They most always make them 
promise not to use tobacco or drink wine and stuff.” 

“Yes,” said Grace doubtfully, “but Johnny doesn’t 
do anything like that — Mr. Carter would lick him 
if he did. He’s temperance and awful strict with 
Johnny. I heard Mother say so.” 

“Johnny chews gum. I’ve seen him lots of times 
— I think gum’s most as bad as tobacco don’t you?” 

“Maybe it’s just as bad for a boy. Miss Brown 
always makes us throw it in the waste-paper basket.” 

“Well, my mother thinks it’s a horrid habit. She 
says no lady would do such a thing.” 

“How you going to make him quit?” 

This was a point that was not quite clear to 
Chicken Little herself. To tell the truth she and 


212 


Chicken Little Jane 


Johnny had not been on very good terms since the 
candy episode. She thought it best to be a little 
vague with Grace. 

“For me to know and you to find out,” she said 
with dignity. 

“Bet you can’t do it,” retorted Grace, nettled. 
“Johnny Carter likes that red-headed girl who goes 
to our Sunday School better than you anyhow. I saw 
him talking to her. I guess it doesn’t make a boy 
your beau, just wanting him to be!” And Grace 
departed with her nose in the air after this parting 
thrust. 

It made Chicken Little feel a trifle uncomfortable. 
She wished she hadn’t been so hasty about claiming 
Johnny’s affections. She wished this still more when 
she went over to Halford’s that evening for Katy 
called to her before she got inside the gate. 

“Somebody’s got a beau ! — somebody’s got a 
beau !” and Katy pointed the finger of scorn at her 
vigorously. 

Chicken Little tried to appear unconcerned. 

“Pooh, that’s nothing — all the girls have.” 

Katy ignored this remark and returned to the 
charge. 

“Jane Morton’s got a beau! Johnny Carter is 
Jane’s beau!” 

Chicken Little began to feel distinctly uncomfort- 
able. She did wish Katy wouldn’t sing it out so loud. 


Forbidden Books and Candy Hearts 213 

But Katy was thoroughly enjoying herself. She 
had discovered Ernest and Carol coming along the 
walk and she saw her chance to make a hit. She 
took up the refrain again with embellishments. 

“Jane Morton’s got a beau 
And I know what’ll please her, 

A bottle of wine ” 

but she got no further. Chicken Little, too, had 
caught sight of her brother Ernest and Carol, and 
she flew at Katy like a young fury. 

The remainder of the doggerel was largely 
drowned in the scuffle that ensued, but Katy managed 
to get “Johnny Carter” out in a shrill treble that 
carried far, in spite of the hands clapped over her 
mouth. 

The boys heard it, grinned, and passed on. 
Chicken Little was furious. 

“I’ll never forgive you, Katy Halford, as long as 
I live, so there !” And she turned her back on the 
offending Katy, stalked straight out of the yard and 
banged the gate after her emphatically. 

The feud lasted a week. Chicken Little passed 
Katy by as if she did not exist, and Katy lost no 
opportunity to hector her. She chanted Johnny’s 
name every time Jane came in sight till the child 
loathed the sound. To add to her woes, Grace Dart 


214 Chicken Little Jane 

began to demand some visible proof that Johnny 
was her beau. 

“He hasn’t ever given you anything, has he?” she 
quizzed. “He gave Sallie a big red apple yester- 
day at recess — I saw him.” 

Chicken Little grew desperate. She didn’t care 
very much to have Johnny or anybody else as a 
beau. She wished there were no such things as beaux 
on the face of the earth, but her pride was stung to 
the quick. She began to imagine that Johnny 
grinned when he saw her. Suppose he had heard. 
She wanted to run every time she saw him coming, 
but she felt that she must do something to make 
friends with him. 

Finally she thought out a way. She saw some of 
the older girls buying candy hearts at the grocery 
store one Saturday when she went downtown on an 
errand for her mother. That would be just the 
thing she thought. If she could find one with a nice 
motto it surely wouldn’t be very hard to turn around 
and lay it on Johnny’s desk. 

The more she thought about it, the more feasible 
the plan seemed. Sunday afternoon she went up- 
stairs and shook a nickel out of her bank which she 
invested in candy hearts the next morning, going 
downtown on her way to school — a thing strictly 
forbidden in the Morton household. 

She didn’t have a chance to look at them till she 


Forbidden Books and Candy Hearts 215 

got home at noon, and then, alas, none of the 
mottoes seemed suitable. She couldn’t make up 
her mind to give him “You’re my girl,” or “I love 
you,” or “Sweetheart mine,” which appeared 
oftenest in flaming red letters on their tombstone 
surfaces. 

She decided to try again. That night she took 
another nickel out of her bank and bought more 
hearts the following morning. This time she found 
two she thought might do. She wavered quite a 
while between “Be my friend,” and “I like you,” at 
length deciding on the latter. 

She wrapped it up carefully in a bit of white 
paper, then waiting her opportunity took the rest of 
the bag of hearts and dumped them in the grate. She 
was sick of them. Her mother coming in soon after 
wondered what made such an odor of burned 
sugar. 

But the act of putting the fateful heart on 
Johnny’s desk wasn’t as simple as she had fancied 
beforehand. If Miss Brown wasn’t looking, Grace 
Dart was. It seemed to her that Grace didn’t study 
a single bit that whole afternoon. Twice when the 
coast was clear, she actually turned around with 
the heart in her hand, but some way her cour- 
age failed her. One look into Johnny’s impish eyes 
paralyzed her hand. Finally she decided to put it 
on his desk when he went to the board. She would 


2l6 


Chicken Little Jane 


wait till he was almost back to his seat so nobody 
could get it, and, then lay it down real quick. 

The deed was done and Chicken Little turned 
back to bury her burning face in her Geography 
and await results. She listened to the rustling of 
paper as Johnny unwrapped the heart. There was 
a long silence. She wondered if he would eat it. 
But Johnny evidently didn’t eat it. She couldn’t 
detect the tiniest crunch. She began to grow more 
and more uncomfortable. Suppose he should show 
it to some of the other children — or to teacher. 

But Johnny wasn’t thinking of doing anything of 
the kind. He was furtively contemplating the tip 
of a very red ear and a strip of cheek, which were 
about all he could see of Chicken Little’s face. 
Johnny had secretly admired Chicken Little ever 
since she had got even with him so artistically. He 
was considerably overcome by this unlooked for 
mark of her favor. But he couldn’t think off-hand 
of any suitable way of returning the courtesy. 

He went through his pockets thoughtfully. Their 
contents were not inspiring — five marbles, a piece of 
string, two broken slate pencils and a red bandanna 
handkerchief slightly soiled. He cherished this 
handkerchief specially because he had seen so many 
teamsters and jockeys — his special admiration — car- 
rying them. Further, he was the only boy in school 
who had one. 


Forbidden Books and Candy Hearts 217 

He smoothed the handkerchief out carefully and 
looked at it. Finally he folded it up into the smallest 
wad possible, tied it with the bit of string, and 
reached under the desk touched Jane’s arm. He 
pressed it into her hand furtively when she looked 
around. 

“ ’Tain’t much,” he said apologetically, “but 
maybe it’ll do for your doll.” 

Chicken Little walked on air going home from 
school that night. She called Grace Dart clear 
across the street to come over and see. Grace came 
and saw and bowed down. There w r as no need to 
ask who had given Chicken Little the trophy. Only 
Johnny Carter possessed such a one — and the hand- 
kerchief was undeniably big and masculine. But 
Jane’s troubles w*ere not over yet. Grace had a 
good memory. 

“I don’t care if he did give it to you. I saw him 
chewing gum this morning coming to school.” 

Chicken Little felt that having a beau was harder 
work than she had bargained for. She privately 
resolved never never to have one again, even if she 
never grew up to be like Rosamond Clifford. But 
she hated to back down on any part of her program 
before Grace. She didn’t like Grace very well 
anyway. 

But Johnny himself made things easier for her 
this time. He caught up with her going home from 


2l8 


Chicken Little Jane 


school the next day and carelessly extended a brand 
new paper of gum in passing. 

“Oh, Johnny,” she said, “I’d love it but Mother 
don’t let me — and — Johnny ” 

Johnny looked expectant. 

“I wish you wouldn’t chew it either.” 

Johnny was surprised. He didn’t reply for a 
moment then demanded: 

“Why, gum’s all right.” 

“No, it isn’t — my Mother says it’s a very bad 
habit.” 

Johnny pondered. He wasn’t walking along with 
Jane, he was about two steps ahead. 

“Well, I don’t mind quittin’ — it’s kind of girls’ 
stuff anyway.” 





QiAPTEiA XIV 

MAY* BASK£JS 


It was a late spring and both the wild blossoms and 
the early garden flowers were discouragingly scarce. 

“I don’t believe there is even a spring beauty or 
a dog-tooth violet out yet,” Mrs. Halford replied 
doubtfully when the little girls broached the subject 
of May baskets. 

“I don’t mind your making them or hanging them 
— I think it is a charming custom — but I really don’t 
see where you can get the flowers.” 

“Mother’s got some geraniums in bloom. I think 
she’d let us have them,” suggested Chicken Little. 

“And maybe there’ll be some plum blossoms out — 
it’s three whole days till May Day and you can see 
the white on the buds.” Gertie was always hopeful. 

“Well, get your baskets ready and we’ll do the 
best we can to find the flowers. We can take some 
219 


220 


Chicken Little Jane 


green from the house plants to help fill up — my 
oxalis is blooming nicely — that will be pretty to mix 
in.” 

“I’m glad it comes Saturday. I wish we could go 
to the Duck Creek woods to hunt for wild flowers 
— I just know I could find some.” Katy looked out 
the window longingly. 

“Wait and see. Perhaps you can,” Mrs. Halford 
answered. “But you’d better be getting your ma- 
terials and start your baskets. What colors do you 
want?” 

“I’m going to have mine all red and white — 
they’re so nice and bright,” Katy spoke up promptly. 

Gertie decided on green and white and Chicken 
Little selected pink and blue. 

They bought their materials that evening after 
school and started the dainty weaving at Katy’s 
house. It was pretty, bright work and a good deal 
of a novelty to the children for a kindergarten had 
only recently been established in the town. 

Katy did all the cutting of the strips of shiny 
paper. She had a truer eye and nimbler fingers than 
either of the others. But they were expert at weav- 
ing the gay-colored strips in and out, and the three 
finished six baskets the first evening. Mrs. Halford 
gave them each a box so they could keep their ma- 
terials and completed baskets in good order. 

“How many are you going to hang, Katy?” 


221 


May Baskets 

“Six, but you needn’t ask where for I sha’n’t tell.” 

“I didn’t hear anyone ask you, Katy,” retorted 
Mrs. Halford slyly. 

“I know two of the places anyway,” added 
Gertie. 

“I guess I know three,” Chicken Little had been 
thinking. 

“I bet you don’t — where?” 

“Oh, Katy, ladies don’t bet,” interrupted Mrs. 
Halford reprovingly. 

“I just forgot, Mumsey, but all the girls most, 
say it — you’re so very particular.” 

“You’ll be glad I am some day, I hope.” 

“Maybe, but I — I’m not just now. And any- 
how Jane doesn’t know where I’m going to hang 
my baskets.” 

“I do too, but I’m not going to tell.” 

“You don’t either — you’re ’fraid to tell ’cause you 
don’t!” 

Katy was crowding the truth pretty close. Chicken 
Little started to protest again when Gertie came to 
the rescue. 

“You’re going to hang one for Miss Burton — I 
heard you say so — and one for Cousin May, aren’t 
you ?” 

“Maybe I am and maybe I’m not. Perhaps I 
haven’t decided.” 

“You are too, Katy Halford, you said you were.” 


222 


Chicken Little Jane 


“ I s’pose I ought to hang one for Miss Brown,” 
sighed Jane. “I don’t want to very bad — she’s been 
awful cross — and Marian. I’m going to give her the 
prettiest one I have. I wish I could send Alice one.” 

“How is Alice getting on?” asked Mrs. Halford. 

“All right. I guess she’s learned a lot — she says 
she stays up till ten o’clock every night studying. 
Her aunt Clara gave her a pretty new dress — and a 
new coat. Her aunt’s going to take her to the sea- 
shore with them this summer, maybe. I wish I could 
go to the sea-shore.” 

“I’ve been to the lakes — that’s most like the sea- 
shore, isn’t it, Mother?” Katy boasted. 

“A little. But you haven’t told us about the bas- 
kets, Katy. Where are the other four going? I’m 
getting curious myself.” 

Katy looked up at her mother’s teasing face. 

“I’ll tell you, Mumsey, but I sha’n’t tell the girls.” 
Katy jumped up and whispered something to her 
mother. 

“There, there, dear, you tickle my ear and I didn’t 
half hear.” 

Katy put her mouth close to her mother’s ear and 
hurriedly mumbled six names. 

“That’ll do — it feels as if you were exploding fire- 
crackers in my ear. I guess I got them all.” 

“I heard, too,” piped Chicken Little and Gertie 
almost in concert. 


May Baskets 223 

“You didn’t either!” Katy looked up indignantly. 

“I did, too. You said Miss Burton and Cousin 
May and Marian Morton and Papa and Grace Dart 
and Ernest — so there !” Gertie reeled oh the names 
almost as quickly as Katy had. 

“Gertie Halford, I think that was real mean of 
you to tell.” 

“I heard them all but Ernest, anyhow,” Chicken 
Little said quickly. 

“Jane Morton, if you ever tell Ernest I’m going 
to hang a May basket to him, I’ll never speak to 
you again.” 

“You don’t need to get so mad — I wasn’t going 
to tell, but I just guess you told on me — and ” 

“And what?” demanded Katy icily. 

It had been on the tip of Chicken Little’s tongue 
to add, “and you thought you were awful smart, 
too,” but she suddenly remembered Mrs. Halford’s 
presence and she didn’t want to be a tattle-tale. 

“Nothing,” she finished lamely, and was deaf to 
further questioning. 

The Fates favored Chicken Little and Gertie for 
Miss Brown suddenly decided to have a May Day 
hunt for wild flowers for her room instead of wait- 
ing for the usual June picnic. 

They started out at nine o’clock Saturday morn- 
ing. It was an ideal spring day — not a cloud in the 
sky and the sunshine so warm that coats and jackets 


Chicken Little Jane 


224 

were shed long before they reached the woods. Some 
of the plum trees were out in bloom, and purple and 
yellow crocuses were opening in a number of the 
yards they passed. 

“We’ll surely find a few spring beauties and yel- 
low violets,” said Miss Brown hopefully. 

There was only a faint glimmer of green on twigs 
and brown earth as they came into the timber and, 
for a time, the little band searched in vain. But Miss 
Brown showed them where to look in sheltered 
places and under protecting leaves. Johnny Carter 
found the first — a little bunch of spring beauties 
fragile and exquisite. After showing them proudly 
to “Teacher” he shyly slipped them into Chicken 
Little’s basket. 

They found the flowers more plentiful as they 
penetrated deeper into the woods. Gleeful shouts 
of discovery grew more and more frequent as they 
swarmed up and down the creek banks, over fallen 
logs and through the underbrush, merry and chat- 
tering as the squirrels themselves. Chicken Little 
counted seven blue-birds and Gertie ten, besides one 
brilliant cardinal that flashed by like a flame, whis- 
tling joyously. 

Chicken Little’s basket filled quickly for Johnny’s 
sole interest in the flowers was apparently the pleas- 
ure of finding them, and he gave most of his spoils 
to her. Most, but not quite all. He had a little 


May Baskets 225 

pasteboard box in his pocket into which he occasion- 
ally tucked a particularly choice spring beauty, care- 
fully moistening its stem in the creek first. 

Chicken Little got so many that she generously 
divided with Gertie when noon came, and Miss 
Brown called her flock together. She showed the 
children how to preserve the flowers by wrapping 
their stems in damp moss and packing them carefully 
in the boxes and baskets. 

The ground was voted too damp for the picnic 
lunch so “Teacher” aided by the bigger boys searched 
till she found a great fallen tree, whose trunk and 
spreading branches accommodated her thirty chick- 
ens nicely. 

The girls lined up along the trunk as near Miss 
Brown as possible, but the boys perched aloft, sitting 
astride some crotch or forked branch with their din- 
ner pails hung conveniently on a twig nearby. 

Doughnuts and sandwiches and apples went from 
grimy hands to eager mouths with a rapidity that 
astonished even Miss Brown despite her ten years of 
teaching. She had brought a big box of bright col- 
ored stick candy to top off with. One thoughtful 
boy gratefully started three cheers for Miss Brown 
by way of the thanks most of the children forgot. 
The hearty cheering of the shrill young voices went 
far to repay her for the morning’s trouble, and 
warmed her heart much more than the stiff little 


226 Chicken Little Jane 

“I’ve had a nice time, Miss Brown.” “Good-bye, 
Miss Brown,” which the more gently-bred children 
conscientiously repeated at parting. 

Chicken Little turned to look back at the teacher’s 
plain face as they left her at the school-house 
gate. 

“I don’t mind hanging her a basket now — she — 
she didn’t act mad a bit today.” 

She went straight over to Marian’s to display her 
treasures. 

“Oh, the lovely woodsy things ! I wouldn’t have 
believed there were so many out — how I love them !” 
and Marian sniffed the wild-wood fragrance hun- 
grily. 

“Oh, I do hope I’ll be well enough to go hunt 
them soon. Bring your baskets over here, Chicken 
Little — Katy and Gertie too, and let me help you fill 
them — I’d love to.”- 1 

Jane had something on her mind. She wanted to 
lay it before Marian but shyness overcame her when- 
ever she opened her mouth to mention it. She hung 
round Marian’s chair restlessly till Marian discov- 
ered that she wanted something and helped her. 

“What is it, Sis? Do you want some of my flow- 
ers for the baskets? Anything I’ve got except that 
big lily.” 

“Oh, Marian, I don’t want to take your flowers — 
I just — wanted to ask you something.” 


May Baskets 227 

“Ask away — I can give you advice to burn — it’s 
about all I’m good for these days.” 

“It’s about the May baskets. Do you think it 
would be all right to hang one for Carol?” 

“Why sure, dear. Anybody would like one of 
your lovely baskets with these dear flowers.” 

“But — I ” 

“Yes?” 

“Johnny Carter gave me all his flowers and I 
thought maybe I ought to hang one for him.” 

“Well, you have plenty of flowers for two.” 

“Ye— es.” 

“Well?” 

“I thought maybe it wasn’t nice — to have two.” 

“Two what?” 

Chicken Little wriggled uneasily and got rather 
red in the face. 

“Two beaux.” 

Marian suppressed a laugh. 

“Why, Chicken Little, I think you are a little 
young to be talking about beaux. I wouldn’t, if I 
were you. Carol is Ernest’s friend and he does lots 
of nice things for you. And you certainly don’t want 
to neglect Johnny when he was so kind about giving 
you the flowers. It would be very nice for you to 
show your appreciation by hanging a basket for each 
of them. I’ll write the names for you, if you want 
me to — then they won’t recognize the writing.” 


228 


Chicken Little Jane 


“Oh, will you? And Marian ” 

“Yes?” 

“Don’t tell Katy or Ernest — or Mother, will 
you?” 

“I won’t tell a living soul, dear, this shall be our 
very own secret.” 

“Katy’s going to hang one to Ernest,” said 
Chicken Little shamelessly betraying Katy’s secret 
just after she had secured Marian’s promise to keep 
her own. 

“Is she? That’s nice, but Chicken Little, if you 
don’t want me to tell about you, you oughtn’t to tell 
about Katy — ought you?” 

“I am not going to tell Ernest,” the child assured 
her hastily. 

“Well, I don’t believe I’d tell anybody. It’s 
Katy’s little secret. Let her tell it if she wants to.” 

Marian’s admonition was well-timed but she felt 
it was rather wasted later that afternoon. The little 
girls had accepted her invitation and had brought 
their flowers and May baskets over for her help and 
advice. Katy was filling hers deftly, chattering as 
she worked. She was especially particular with one, 
taking the flowers out and rearranging them several 
times before she could get them to her liking. 

“That must be for someone very special, Katy.” 

Katy looked pleased. 

“Yes, it’s for a very — special friend.” 


May Baskets 229 

Marian saw that Katy wished to be questioned. 

“Why, Katy, that sounds mysterious. I suppose 
we don’t dare ask who this friend is?” 

“It’s somebody you know,” volunteered Gertie. 

Chicken Little giggled, appreciating the joke. 

“Somebody you know very well,” added Katy with 
emphasis. 

“It can’t be Frank?” Marian queried. 

The children laughed in derision. 

“You’re getting a little bit warm,” suggested 
Katy. 

“Only a little bit warm — let me see — it’s Dr. 
Morton. No? — then it must be Dick Harding.” 

Katy shook her head. 

“I’m certainly a poor guesser. Is it Sherm?” 

Jane was delighted with Marian’s pretending and 
Gertie was burning to assist. 

“He was here this morning,” Gertie encouraged. 

“He has weak eyes,” Chicken Little was delight- 
fully definite. 

“Why, it must be Ernest !” 

Katy smiled a self-conscious little smirk and the 
others nodded joyfully. 

“Of course, how stupid I was. Let’s see — you go 
after dark and hang the baskets on the door knob, 
then ring the bell and run — isn’t that the way? 
That’s the way we used to do with our comic valen- 
tines.” 


Chicken Little Jane 


230 

The little girls were not the only ones who came 
consulting Marian that day. Three rather sheep- 
ish boys appeared so promptly after the girls de- 
parted, that Marian suspected they had been hang- 
ing around waiting for the children to go. 

“Say, Marian, do you s’pose you could help us 
fix up some of those May basket things everybody’s 
talking about?” 

“It’s a little late in the day, Ernest. How many 
do you boys want?” 

Ernest looked at Sherm and Sherm looked at 
Carol, and Carol saw something out of the window 
that interested him. 

At length, Ernest, getting no assistance from the 
others, blurted out : 

“One’s enough for me. What do you say, boys?” 

Carol and Sherm nodded. 

“One apiece — my, this looks exciting. Somebody 
is to be very specially honored I see. It is too late 
to make the kind the little girls have, but you might 
buy some tiny baskets — I’d love to trim them up for 
you. Got any money, boys?” 

An exhaustive search of trousers’ pockets revealed 
a combined capital of twenty-five cents. The boys 
asked anxiously if it were enough. 

“Yes, for three. Are you getting this for Chicken 
Little, Ernest?” 

Ernest got red and looked uncomfortable. 


May Baskets 231 

“Never mind — I didn’t mean to be prying — only I 
wish you big boys would hang some for the little 
girls — it would please them to death. If you don’t 
mind my having a part in this. I’d like to put in a 
little money, too. Let me put in another quarter 
and I’ll do the trimming and you boys can repay me 
by hanging a basket to each of the little girls as 
well as to your own friends.” 

The bargain was speedily struck and the boys hur- 
ried off downtown for the baskets and the ribbon 
for the tiny bows Marian had decided should adorn 
them. 

They came back so quickly, it made Marian 
breathless to think of the pace they must have gone. 
Carol didn’t come straight either. He slipped round 
by home to beg some blossoms from his mother’s 
house plants. Not finding her, he promptly helped 
himself to all her most cherished blooms to her 
surprise and wrath when she discovered her 
loss. 

Marian filled in with her own flowers and the boys 
hung round admiring, waiting upon her awkwardly 
and watching every move she made with the 
baskets. 

“Is it all right?” she asked, holding up the first, 
filled with scarlet geraniums. 

“Gee, that’s a dandy!” Ernest approved. 

“Say, I’d like to have that one,” said Sherm. 


Chicken Little Jane 


232 

“I like blue better anyway — make mine blue, will 
you, Marian?” Ernest added. 

Marian thought of Katy’s scarlet and white offer- 
ing to be laid at Ernest’s shrine and smiled. 

“Yellow for me, please,” put in Carol. “Yellow’s 
so kind of cheerful — like sunshine or gold — I always 
liked dandelions only they’re such a pest.” 

The little girls had been too happily full of their 
own plans to wonder whether they would get any 
baskets in return. But they came back that evening 
from the delightfully exciting task of hanging their 
fragrant gifts to find that friends and playmates had 
been equally mindful of them. 

Katy had the most — seven. Jane and Gertie had 
each five. One of Jane’s was a marvellous creation 
so heavy that she promptly investigated what lay 
beneath the flowers, finding a fat little box of candy 
hidden away. Another was a crude little pasteboard 
affair fairly overflowing with dainty spring beauties, 
and this, too, contained an offering in the shape of a 
jolly little home-made whistle. Still another had 
scarlet bows. 

Katy wondered and wondered who sent her a 
similar basket with golden yellow bows on each side 
of the handle. 

“I’m sure I heard Ernest and Sherm outside our 
gate. I just know Ernest gave me that,” she con- 
fided to Gertie. 


May Baskets 233 

Gertie’s biggest basket had blue bows and Gertie 
loved blue. 

Marian never knew where the mates to the blue 
and yellow and red baskets found a lodging place. 
She did not inquire. But when she saw Chicken 
Little’s candy she promptly exclaimed “Dick Hard- 
ing l’\ 

“I just know it was,” replied Chicken Little. 




May seemed to have traded places with April that 
year for it was a month of many showers. Poor 
Marian got tired of watching the pelting rain 
and Mrs. Morton complained that it was simply im- 
possible to clean house as the sunniest day was liable 
to end in a downpour. 

Dr. Morton’s letters from the west full of glow- 
ing accounts of the sunshine in Kansas and Colorado 
seemed almost irritating in their contrast. Alice, 
too, wrote of lovely spring weather, declaring it had 
been almost hot some days. 

The children did not mind the rain — they merely 
objected to being shut in on account of it. Chicken 
Little told Dick a long tale of woe one evening 
when he came up to inquire about Marian and get 
the latest news of Alice. 


234 


Thunder and Gooseberry Bushes 235 

“Fine weather for ducks and frogs, Chicken Lit- 
tle. Just try standing in the edge of a puddle — 
saying croak, croak and see if you don’t like it. I’ll 
have to give you a few swimming lessons,” he con- 
soled her teasingly. 

“Don’t put any such nonsense into her head, Dick. 
She is a born duck now and is forever teasing to go 
wading,” Mrs. Morton had replied. 

“Why we’ll have to call you Ducky Daddies in- 
stead of Chicken Little,” said Dick. 

Mrs. Morton repeated the incident to Mrs. Hal- 
ford the following day. 

“Children certainly do have the craziest notions. 
Chicken Little has been fretting all spring to go out 
in the rain. I suspect several slight colds she has 
had are due to experiments of that kind.” Mrs. 
Morton looked both amused and annoyed. 

“Yes, Katy and Gertie have had the same craze — 
I guess it’s natural. I remember the spring rains 
used to have the same attraction for me when I was 
a child. My father used to say children should be 
born web-footed — they love water so. Puddles do 
look tempting. I think the thing that cured me was 
one of those dashing spring showers that bring the 
earthworms out. Some kind child made me believe 
they rained down. I loathed the slimy things. You 
couldn’t get me out doors, if it so much as looked 
like rain, for weeks after. I kept imagining the 


Chicken Little Jane 


236 

crawly things dropping down on my hair and face. 
Ugh! I remember just how I felt even yet.” 

“That might be a good way to cure our would-be 
ducklings.” 

“No, I don’t think so — fear is never the best way 
to cure a child, and I like my girls to love rain as 
well as shine. But I’ve been wondering if it might 
not be a good idea to let them go out once in a good 
hard thunder shower just to get it out of their sys- 
tems — though, of course, there would be fear in that, 
too.” 

Some two weeks after this conversation between 
the mothers, Chicken Little was spending Saturday 
morning at the Halfords’. The children were play- 
ing keep house out under the gooseberry bushes. 
The bushes were very old and tall. Mr. Halford 
kept them trimmed up underneath, forming leafy 
aisles about three feet high. Here the little girls 
delighted to set up their doll goods in the late spring 
and early summer. 

They had everything arranged to their taste on 
this particular morning. They had settled down in 
charge of a most extensive dolls’ hospital, using the 
aisles between the rows of bushes for wards and the 
green gooseberries for pills — a most convenient 
arrangement because the supply of medicine never 
gave out. But, alas, before Dr. Katy had time to in- 
spect a single ward, big drops began to patter down, 


Thunder and Gooseberry Bushes 237 

and Gertie’s cherished Minnie, suffering from a ter- 
rible attack of pneumonia, was well sprinkled be- 
fore her anxious mother could remove her to a shel- 
tered spot. The sprinkle was but the beginning of a 
smart shower that sent the children squrrying to the 
house with their arms filled with a jumble of patients 
and bedding. Gertie regarded them dumped in a 
heap on the kitchen floor, ruefully. 

“Minnie’ll take an awful cold and die I just know, 
and my new pink silk quilt got wet and the pink’s 
run into the white !” 

“I think it’s horrid of it to rain just as we got 
everything fixed,” added Katy. 

“I wish we could stay out in it,” said Chicken 
Little, staring out the window at the rain falling 
ker-splash on the brick walk outside. 

“Wouldn’t it be fun!” Katy exclaimed enthusias- 
tically. “See what big drops — I most believe I could 
catch some in my hands. Oh, I wonder if Mother 
would let us go out — I’m going to ask her.” 

Mrs. Halford meditated a moment over the re- 
quest, then putting by her sewing went to the window 
to take a look at the clouds. 

It was growing darker with an occasional flash of 
lightning and an accompanying growl of thunder off 
in the distance. Mrs. Halford turned to the chil- 
dren with a twinkle of resolution in her eyes and 
astonished them by saying: 


Chicken Little Jane 


238 

“Yes, you may. Off with your shoes and stock- 
ings and put on your gossamers. You may stay out 
in the rain just as long as you like. You too, Chicken 
Little, I’ll be responsible to your mother. You can 
take my gossamer.” 

“Oh, Mother,” Katy and Gertie both flung them- 
selves at their little mother for an ecstatic hug. 

“Yes,” she continued, as soon as they released her. 
“You may take those old umbrellas in the woodhouse 
and go back under the gooseberry bushes if you wish 
— I want you to be thoroughly satisfied, so you won’t 
always be teasing to go out in the wet.” 

“You don’t need to_ think we’ll get tired of it, 
Mother,” Katy assured her. 

“My, I could stay out all day — I love it so,” 
Chicken Little protested. 

“We’ll stay as long as you’ll let us, Mumsey.” 

Mrs. Halford smiled. 

Shoes and stockings came off in a jiffy and the 
children ran out jumping up and down gleefully. 
They splashed about in the little puddles in the old 
brick walk, and dabbled their bare toes in the wet 
grass. They danced and squealed, catching the 
splashing drops in their hands and flinging them in 
each other’s faces until the water was dripping in 
streams from noses and chins. 

“Isn’t it grand?” 

“My, I never had so much fun in my life!” 


Thunder and Gooseberry Bushes 239 

“ ’Tisn’t a bit cold.” 

They frisked and splashed till the novelty began 
to wear off a little, then adopted Mrs. Halford’s 
suggestion about going back to their gooseberry 
playhouse. 

The rain was coming down harder now and the 
roll of thunder and play of lightning were more fre- 
quent. But the little girls were too much absorbed 
with their own plans to notice this. 

“I shall not take Minnie out in this rain — she 
w r ould be sure to take a nasty cold,” said Gertie de- 
cidedly, heartlessly denying her child the pleasures 
she was enjoying. 

“Let’s leave the dolls in the house — they’ll get all 
messy — besides the paint comes off if you get them a 
teeny bit wet.” 

“Let’s play we’re sailing in a boat — and the um- 
brellas can be the sails and ” 

“No, let’s be Swiss Family Robinson in the tree 
house — we can just play pull the ladder up after 
us.” 

They all agreed to this and started out to fit up 
their abode under almost as discouraging circum- 
stances as that famous family are supposed to have 
faced. Taking two of the old umbrellas Katy 
propped them up to reinforce their foliage roof over 
the driest spot she could find. She worked quite a 
while before she could get them moored securely. 


Chicken Little Jane 


240 

It was hard to manage with the rain driving in her 
face and the wind tugging at the umbrellas. 

“My, it’ll be fine when we get it all fixed. See, 
it’s hardly a bit wet here ” 

“Let’s bring an old piece of carpet and spread 
down — and a book. We can read here just as snug.” 

“Yes, and some cookies and apples — I’m getting 
hungry.” 

“All right — let’s.” 

The children plodded back and forth under the 
remaining umbrellas looking like a six-legged mush- 
room. They found it difficult to get the carpet and 
provender safely placed without getting wet. And 
however willing they were to be ducks them- 
selves water didn’t seem adapted to carpets or 
cookies. 

Mrs. Halford watched the trio busy and dripping 
and laughed till the tears stood in her eyes. The 
Irish maid in the kitchen was scandalized but inter- 
ested. 

“Did you ever see the likes of ’em? They’re that 
wet, ma’am, they leave puddles on me floor every 
time they come in and they be after stayin’ out there 
and ’atin,’ ma’am! Now drinkin’ would sure be 
aisicr.” 

“Never mind, Maggie, it does seem foolish, but 
I want them to have their fill of it.” 

“Fill — it’s sloppin’ over they are already. Howly 


Thunder and Gooseberry Bushes 241 

Saints — hear that thunder! They’ll not be stayin’ 
out long to that music I’m thinkin’.” 

Mrs. Halford smiled and settled down to her sew- 
ing after one parting look at the camp under the 
gooseberry bushes. 

It was truly a comical sight. The old umbrellas 
swayed uneasily above the green domes below and 
they could catch glimpses of the gossamer-clad fig- 
ures, including a generous exposure of bare feet and 
legs in the leafy gloom beneath. 

Maggie came to the sitting-room door a few mo- 
ments later in the last throes of astonishment. 

“And what do you think they be doing now? It’s 
radin’ they be — radin’ ! It’s swimmin’ they’ll be 
doin’ soon I’m a thinkin’ !” 

Maggie returned to her post indignant at such 
carryings on. 

The rain was coming down steadily. Water was 
pouring off the eaves in great streams, branches wefe 
dripping, and some chickens huddled in a fence cor- 
ner in the adjoining yard were so dejected that not 
even an aspiring tail-feather pointed heavenward. 
The streets were almost deserted and the few passers- 
by hurried along wet and forlorn. Mrs. Halford 
began to wonder a little anxiously how long the 
gooseberry campers would stick it out. She began 
to have painful visions of sore throats and bron- 
chitis or at the best colds, caught from sitting on the 


242 Chicken Little Jane 

wet ground. She was also fearful lest Mrs. Morton 
might not approve after all. 

“Have you got plenty of boiling water, Maggie?” 
she called. Hot drinks and hot foot baths could 
surely be relied upon to ward off colds, she reassured 
herself, if they didn’t stay too long. She wondered 
if they were really enjoying it. 

The children were beginning to wonder them- 
selves, though not for worlds would either Chicken 
Little or Katy have confessed to the other that this 
rainy day playhouse was not all she had fancied. 

The trio huddled together close under the two 
umbrellas. The rain was pounding down through 
the gooseberry screen now and the carpet was de- 
cidedly damp on the edges. Little streams of water 
ran down the furrows in the garden about them. 
They had eaten all the cookies but one, which got 
wet and dissolved in a gluey paste. Katy read away 
valiantly but the story didn’t seem as absorbing as 
it had been the night before — the children found 
their attention wandering. 

Gertie’s eyes kept straying to the forked streaks 
of lightning that were cutting the black clouds over- 
head. 

“It’s getting pretty close,” she complained finally. 

But the others’ courage was still good. 

“Pooh, who minds a little lightning,” said Katy 
scornfully. 


Thunder and Gooseberry Bushes 243 

“Pm not afraid of lightning,” said Chicken Little 
valiantly, “but I wish it wouldn’t thunder so hard.” 

“Bet you are afraid, Jane Morton.” 

“I am not, Katy Halford. I never said a word 
about going in. I just said I wished it wouldn’t 
thunder so much — and I do.” 

A long reverberating roll gave point to her wish. 

Gertie and Chicken Little both squirmed uneasily, 
but Katy caught her breath and went on reading, 
scrooging up a little closer under the umbrellas. The 
continuous drip from one of the umbrella points 
down on her back was making her nervous, she said. 
She could feel a little damp spot coming through her 
gossamer. Gertie drew her bare feet up under her 
and cast longing looks toward the house. She was 
getting cold and the drifting smoke from the kitchen 
chimney looked wondrously inviting. She did wish 
Katy would stop reading. But Katy read on as 
steadily as the rain pattered, rolling out the big 
words reckless of mistakes and lifting her shrill lit- 
tle voice almost to a shriek when it thundered, as if 
she defied the elements to do their worst. 

“I don’t think it’s very intrusting,” Gertie inter- 
rupted plaintively. 

“Why, Gertie Halford, you said you just loved it 
last night.” 

Gertie could not deny the accusation. She didn’t 
quite realize herself how very different the story 


Chicken Little Jane 


244 

seemed when listened to from the depths of a cush- 
ioned chair in a cozy, brightly lighted room and out 
here under the dripping bushes, chilled and fright- 
ened. Even the old umbrellas were getting soaked. 
Katy had to shift the precious book a time or two to 
avoid the drip. 

Gertie returned to the charge. 

“I guess the Swiss family got awful tired of their 
tree house if it rained like this. I am never going 
to play tree house again, Katy.” 

“ ’Fraid cat! ’fraid cat! I think it’s lots of fun. 
Don’t you, Jane?” 

Chicken Little had begun to fuss about restlessly, 
shifting from one cramped position to another. She 
did not answer Katy’s question right away. 

<T I guess it’s most noon,” she finally evaded diplo- 
matically. “Mother said I must be home by noon.” 

But Katy saw through this flimsy excuse. 

“Oh, you’re backing out! ’Tisn’t anywhere near 
noon — you’re just making an excuse to go home. I 
bet you’re ’fraid too.” 

“I’m not, Katy Halford, I’m not afraid the least 
speck and I can stay here just as long as you can!” 
Chicken Little repelled this slur upon her courage 
indignantly. 

“Pooh, I’m going to stay here till the dinner bell 
rings,” declared Katy with a confidence she did 
not feel. She had been secretly hoping for sev- 


Thunder and Gooseberry Bushes 245 

eral minutes that her mother would call them in. 

A blinding flash put a period to her sentence. 
There were three alarmed “Ohs!” and three pairs 
of frightened eyes blinked an instant from the 
glare. 

Then Gertie picked herself up resolutely. 

“I’m going straight in to Mother. I am ’fraid 
of lightning and I don’t care who knows it — and you 
don’t like it any better than I do, Katy, but you just 
think it’s smart to pretend.” And Gertie gathered 
her flapping gossamer about her and scurried for the 
house. 

Katy looked at Chicken Little and Chicken Little 
looked at Katy. They were both longing to follow 
but neither would give in. 

Suddenly another and then another dazzling flash 
blinded them. The forked flames seemed launched 
straight at them and the deafening crash that fol- 
lowed shook the very ground under their feet. 

With a wild yell in unison, the children fled 
screaming to the house. Mrs. Halford met them at 
the kitchen door white and worried. She had not 
dreamed they would hold out so long. 

The piece of carpet was left to a watery fate under 
the bushes. The book dropped from Katy’s nerve- 
less fingers unnoticed and forgotten till the next day, 
when Maggie picked it up limp and discolored near 
the kitchen door. 


246 Chicken Little Jane 

It took Mrs. Halford a full hour to dry and com- 
fort the terrified trio. But once warmed and reas- 
sured Chicken Little and Katy promptly quarreled as 
to who deserted first. 

“I wouldn’t have come if Chicken Little hadn’t 
been so scared. Of course, I didn’t want to stay 
there all alone,” Katy asserted blandly. 

“It’s no such thing, Katy Halford — I’m most sure 
you started first. It was ’cause you yelled so I got 
so scared. My mother always says I’m real brave 
about thunder.” 

“You did start first, Chicken Little Jane, and I 
just wish you could ’a’ heard yourself yell !” 

“Girls,” said Mrs. Halford with a twinkle in her 
eye, “stand up together there.” 

The children wonderingly obeyed and she sur- 
veyed them both carefully. 

“Do you know,” she said reflectively, “I am sure 
it took you both to make all the noise I heard — I 
wonder how you did it — it sounded like a whole 
tribe of wild Indians. And if either of you beat 
the other to the house, it was because she could run 
faster.” 

The little girls edged apart sheepishly. The sub- 
ject was dropped. Mrs. Halford was a quiet little 
woman who seldom scolded, but she had a way with 
her that silenced even obstreperous Katy. 

“Now if you want to know what I think,” she 


Thunder and Gooseberry Bushes 247 

continued, “I think Gertie was the bravest one of 
the three.” 

“Why, Mumsey Halford — you know Gertie came 
in first of all.” This was more than Katy could 
stand. 

“Exactly, that’s why I think she was the bravest. 
She was brave enough to stand being made fun of 
rather than be a foolish little girl and stay out in 
the storm needlessly. Your courage and Jane’s, too, 
was mostly vanity, Katy dear. You wanted to show 
off — and each wanted to beat the other. That is the 
kind of courage that gets people into trouble in this 
world. The kind of courage I want my girls to have 
is the finer kind that does some good. It is the kind 
of courage that makes men risk their own lives to 
save people from drowning. Don’t you remember, 
Katy, the story I read you of the life-savers going 
out in the terrible storm to get the people off a sink- 
ing ship? And you remember how thrilled you were 
reading about the awful hardships of the patriots at 
Valley Forge? Theirs was the courage to suffer for 
the sake of their country. Do you suppose we 
would honor them today if they had half-starved 
themselves in the snow that winter just for fun? 
And the courage which is not afraid to refuse to do 
something wrong or silly, is just as necessary as the 
courage to do. I guess Gertie is one ahead this 
time. Don’t you think so?” 


Chicken Little Jane 


248 

The children were saved the pain of answering by 
the arrival of Ernest with umbrella, water-proof, 
and rubbers for Chicken Little. 

Mrs. Halford laughed merrily when she saw 
them. 

“After all, children, I guess the joke is on me. 
I am afraid I didn’t have the courage to act at the 
proper time myself.” 



CHAPTER- 
IHTER^ANi ASURPRISE 

The sitting room in the Morton home was cheer- 
ful with sunshine. It brightened the conventional 
flowers of the old crimson Brussels carpet into 
a semblance of life. It caught the gold outline of 
the wall paper and lingered there — even the somber 
steel engravings reflected the light from the polished 
glass over them. Mrs. Morton sat in her low 
rocking chair by the window reading a letter from 
her husband. 

She had read it through for the second time, and 
still she gazed at the lines as if she could not quite 
comprehend their meaning. Her sewing had 
dropped from her lap unheeded. Ernest, coming in 
search of her, called three times before she noticed 
him. 

“Yes, Son,” she answered absently at last. 

249 




Chicken Little Jane 


250 

“What’s the matter, Mother? Nothing wrong 
with Father is there?” 

Ernest had recognized his father’s writing on the 
closely written sheets. 

“No, dear, just some perplexing business. Sit 
down and I’ll read it to you — but don’t mention the 
matter to anyone yet.” 

Ernest came close to his mother, putting his arm 
affectionately about her shoulders. 

“Don’t look so solemn, Mother,” he protested. 

“Am I looking solemn? Well, I do feel worried. 
Listen to this : 

“My dear Wife, 

“I was glad to get your letter of the 8th with the 
welcome news that you are all well and that Marian 
is getting about again. I have important news for 
you and for Frank. I am writing to him by the 
same mail. I have bought the ranch! A really 
choice one, I believe, and so cheap it must surely 
double in value in ten years. There is an entire sec- 
tion, and good water for house and stock — a wonder- 
ful big spring in a little rocky dell shaded by a great 
oak tree hundreds of years old. It will charm you 
all. Chicken Little will want to set up housekeep- 
ing under it immediately and you and Marian would 
find it a lovely cool nook for a summer afternoon. 
The big spring widens into a brook twenty feet be- 


Letters and a Surprise 251 

low and goes singing away over the stones. A good- 
sized spring house has been built over it and crocks 
of butter and milk and great melons are set right in 
the cold running water. You never saw such a 
refrigerator. The place has magnificent orchards, 
peach, apple and cherry with grapes and blackberries 
also. 

“Tell Chicken Little I saw a flock of quail in 
the apple orchard. Our baby quail got tangled in 
the long grass as he tried to scurry away and I 
picked him up. He was a jolly soft little brown ball 
with the brightest eyes. I would have liked to bring 
him home to the child but I was afraid I couldn’t 
care for him. Tell her though I have a most aston- 
ishing present for her and she can never guess what 
it is, if she lies awake every night till I come. But 
to return to the ranch — it has two hundred acres of 
fine farming land, unlimited pasture, and a heavily 
timbered creek crossing it diagonally. The details I 
must give you when I get home. You have never 
seen a lovelier sight than the prairies at this time of 
year — I counted thirty-seven different kinds of flow- 
ers in one spot. Chicken Little would love the little 
sensitive plants that curl up their leaves when you 
touch them and open them again when they think you 
are gone. But I have forgotten the houses — there 
are two — which I suppose you and Marian will con- 
sider the most important of all.” 


Chicken Little Jane 


252 

“But ” Ernest interrupted, “why does he keep 

talking as if we were going, too? I thought he was 
just buying this for Frank and Marian.” 

“So did I — just wait — he explains in a moment. 

“One is a roomy, comfortable farm house of two 
stories, the other a snug five-roomed affair just across 
the road from the first. Both houses are a little 
old-fashioned, but could easily be remodeled. One 
word as to the climate, then I have something for 
you to think over. Kansas is exactly the place for 
Marian — not so hot as Arizona, no startling change 
from hot days to cold nights as I found in Colorado. 
Now, dear, I want to know if you would be willing 
to consider coming out here to live also. The ranch 
is almost too big a thing for Frank alone and as 
you know I find my practice pretty hard work for a 
man of my age, but we’ll talk all this over when I 
come home. Tell Ernest for me that he would 
never have weak eyes here. There is fishing and 
hunting enough to keep any boy out doors, not to 
mention having a horse of his own.” 

“O Mother,” Ernest interrupted again, “wouldn’t 
that be jolly?” 

“Jolly, to leave our home and friends?” 

Mrs. Morton’s face was tragic and the tears 
flooded her eyes. 


Letters and a Surprise 253 

“Why, Mother — I didn’t think — don’t cry. Of 
course we won’t go if you don’t want to.” And 
Ernest stroked his mother’s hair awkwardly. 

Mrs. Morton smiled through her tears. 

“I mustn’t give way — it’s foolish. But it was so 
unexpected — and I’m afraid — perhaps we ought to 
do it on Frank and Marian’s account — and your 
father’s. It is hard for him to be up nights so much. 
We’ll see.” 

Mrs. Morton kissed Ernest and picked up her 
sewing again. 

Dr. Morton came home a week later sunburned 
and vigorous — full of the wonderful country he had 
been seeing. His trunk was a perfect treasure house 
of gifts for the family. Ernest’s eyes shone when 
the canvas-covered case his father held out to him 
was found to contain a small shot gun. He had been 
begging for one for the past two years, but had been 
refused because he was too young. 

“I think I can depend upon you to handle this 
with the greatest care, Ernest,” said his father im- 
pressively. “I wouldn’t have bought it for you if I 
hadn’t felt assured you could be trusted.” 

Dr. Morton looked at the boy keenly and was 
pleased to see the way he drew up his shoulders and 
looked his father in the eye as he replied: 

“I think you can trust me, Father, I’ll do my best.” 

^I’m sure I can,” said his father heartily. “The 


254 Chicken Little Jane 

first thing you must remember is never to leave it 
loaded. Half the accidents occur because somebody 
‘didn’t know it was loaded.’ It’s a simple matter 
to open it and slip out the shells before you put it 
away.” 

Dr. Morton took the shiny steel weapon across 
his knee and, opening it, slipped the shells quickly 
in and out, with Ernest and Jane watching intently 
beside him. 

“I believe I could do that,” Chicken Little re- 
marked complacently. 

“You’d better not try, Miss Meddlesome Matty,” 
ejaculated Ernest sharply. “Don’t you ever let me 
catch you touching it!” 

The child looked rebellious but her father added 
sternly : 

“Ernest is quite right, little daughter, you must 
never under any circumstances try to handle this gun 
— but I have something for you that will keep you 
busy. No,” as she jumped up eagerly, “you must 
wait till the last this time.” 

“I just can’t wait much longer, Father. I’m all 
going round inside. Please hurry!” 

But for some reason her father wouldn’t hurry. 
He brought out two gay Navajo blankets for Mrs. 
Morton and Marian and a wonderful Mexican 
bridle for Frank. 

“You’ll have plenty of use for it on the ranch. 


Letters and a Surprise 255 

You’D be in the saddle half your time I fancy,” he 
told the latter. 

He even unwrapped a little Indian basket, which 
he asked Mrs. Morton to send to Alice. Still there 
was nothing for Chicken Little. She hung on the 
arm of his chair and fidgeted. Finally, he looked 
round at her quizzically: 

“Why, my parcels are all gone and there doesn’t 
seem to be anything for you. Dear me, did I for- 
get it?” 

Just then Ernest got up and went out into the hall, 
coming back presently, leaving the door open behind 
him. In spite of themselves the family all looked 
toward the door. Chicken Little looked too, but 
saw nothing. A moment later the queerest voice 
called : 

“Chick-en Lit-tle ! Chick-en Lit-tle ! Poor Pete I 
Scat! Go of! an’ die !” 

The words seemed to come from the floor and 
sounded as if they were fired out of a popgun. 

Chicken Little jumped down from her father’s 
chair and stood for an instant spellbound in the mid- 
dle of the floor. 

Then she fell upon the newcomer with a shout. 

“Oh, it’s a parrot ! Ernest, it’s a parrot 1” 

But Polly eyed her distrustfully. 

“Scat — go off and die!” he exclaimed, promptly 
retreating toward the door. 


256 Chicken Little Jane 

At a safe distance he began to call again: 

“Chicken Little — Chicken Little!” 

“Why, Father, how does he know my name?” 

“Father’s taught him, silly — he makes him say it 
before he feeds him. He’ll call you every time he 
wants his grub.” Ernest could not resist airing his 
superior knowledge. 

“Go get him a cracker, Chick, and he will make 
friends with you fast enough.” 

Pete caught the word cracker and observed plain- 
tively — “Poor Pete — give Pete cracker. Bust my 
buttons — cracker — cracker!” Then remembering his 
latest lesson he called engagingly once more : 
“Chicken Little!” 

“I am afraid it will be a sad nuisance,” Mrs. 
Morton said, laughing in spite of herself at the bird’s 
absurd talk. 

“Let Chicken Little take care of it herself — she’s 
old enough,” Dr. Morton replied. 

“Yes, she’s old enough, but somebody will have to 
see that she does it!” 

“Pete will see to that — he’ll make life a burden 
for her with his ‘Chicken Little’ if he is neglected.” 

Mrs. Morton sent the pretty Indian basket on to 
Alice with a letter telling her that Frank and Marian 
were going West to their new home early in Sep- 
tember. She did not mention Dr. Morton’s new 
plan. She could not bear to admit even to herself 


Letters and a Surprise 257 

the possihility of their all going. Her home meant 
much to her. She looked about the handsome, com- 
fortable rooms of the old house and she felt that 
she loved every nook and cranny of it, though they 
had owned it but five years. She thought, too, of 
Alice’s disappointment should her old home again 
pass on to strangers. They had taken great pride in 
restoring the place, which had been much run down 
when they bought it. The flower garden was her 
especial pride and care. It was lovely now with 
clove pinks, sweet williams, mignonette, and a dozen 
more old-fashioned blossoms, as she looked up from 
her letter to rest her eyes lovingly upon it. She 
had lain awake nights wondering if it was her duty 
to give up this home and her friends for the unknown 
ranch life. It would be giving up more still. The 
nearest church would be nine miles away — the chil- 
dren would have only an ungraded district school. 
She shook her head. No, she must take plenty of 
time to think all this over. 

A day or two after his father’s return, Frank 
caught up with him just outside the gate. “Heard 
about Gassett?” 

“No — has he had a relapse?” 

“No such luck, he has started a suit against Alice 
to recover those certificates.” 

“How did you hear?” 

“His lawyer came to me to get Alice’s address. 


Chicken Little Jane 


258 

And what do you think? Dick Harding told me 
this morning that Gassett tried to get him to take the 
case. Foxy, wasn’t it? Dick declined promptly.” 

“Alice would do well to get Dick for her lawyer.” 

“I imagine Uncle Joseph will attend to that.” 

“Still, I think I’ll drop her a hint.” 

But Alice had evidently not forgotten Dick Hard- 
ing or Dr. Morton’s remark about his being a good 
lawyer. Before the doctor’s letter could reach her, 
a formal missive from Uncle Joseph requested Dick 
Harding to defend Alice’s side and to get an older 
lawyer to help him. 

Dick went promptly to work. Dr. Morton sent 
down the box of letters and papers Alice had left in 
his charge and Dick went over them carefully, but 
did not find what he was hoping for. 

“It is a queer mix-up,” he wrote Alice. “I can- 
not understand why therfc isn’t a scrap of writing 
anywhere from Mr. Gassett to your father. There 
surely must have been some correspondence between 
them on business matters. Many things in your 
father’s letters to your mother show this — but the 
letters are missing. It hardly seems likely your 
father would have destroyed them all. Do you sup- 
pose that he could have left them at the store and 
that they have fallen into Gassett’s hands, too? Or 
could your mother have accidentally destroyed 
them? I remember though you said she was most 


Letters and a Surprise 259 

careful to keep old letters. I have a queer feeling 
about all this — that the missing letters and papers 
still exist and will turn up yet. But feelings don’t 
go in law courts. Is there an attic to the old house 
or any secret closet where they could possibly have 
been concealed?” 

Alice talked the matter over with Uncle Joseph 
and he started rummaging among his papers to see 
if he could find anything in her father’s old letters 
that would help. There were few references to busi- 
ness matters in these and no reference to Mr. Gas- 
sett except a mere mention of the fact that he had 
gone into partnership with him. 

“It’s no use, Alice. I am afraid we’ll have to let 
Gassett have the stuff though I hate like sixty to 
give up,” he said after his fruitless search. 

“Well, I’m not ready to own beat yet — I have one 
last hope,” Alice replied bravely. 

That night she sat down and wrote a letter to 
Mrs. Morton. 


CtiAPTER-'XVTI 
COUSIN • MAY’S • PAFOT 

Chicken Little found Pete Parrot a great joy 
and a great nuisance. Dr. Morton was right 
about his reproaching her if she neglected him. 
When Pete began to call “Chicken Little, ” Mrs. 
Morton would exclaim, “Why, Jane, haven’t you fed 
Pete today?” 

Pete had a wonderful appetite. He ate when he 
was hungry and he ate when he was lonesome and he 
ate when he was bored. Further Pete was deceitful. 
He would call Chicken Little persistently when he 
had food enough in sight to feed a small regiment 
of parrots. He seemed to prefer her to anyone else 
from the start. When he heard the front door open, 
he promptly croaked, “Chicken Little.” When they 
let him loose he would follow her about the house, a 
trick that cost him dear later. 

And Jane was devoted to Pete. She loved to talk 
260 



Cousin May’s Party 261 

to him. Pete would cock his head on one side and 
listen attentively, breaking out occasionally with 
“Bust my buttons” or “Go off and die.” Sometimes 
he would listen solemnly for several minutes and 
then laugh his harsh croaking laugh. 

One afternoon near the close of school Jane, com- 
ing in, heard her mother’s voice calling from the 
sitting room and Pete echoing the call from upstairs. 

“What is it, Mother?” 

“I have some pleasant news for you, little daugh- 
ter, Katy’s cousin, May Halford, is to have a party 
next Saturday and here is a nice little note inviting 
you and your doll. I think May must have written 
it herself. It is very prettily done — I wish my little 
girl could write as neat a one.” 

“But she’s two years older than I am, Mother.” 

“Yes, but you are not too young to learn to write 
neatly. I noticed your copy book had three great 
blots in it this month.” 

“Grace Dart jogged me — she wanted me to look 
at Johnny Carter. He had the back of his hand 
all covered with transfer pictures.” 

“Well, you must learn not to let your attention 
wander in school. Johnny Carter seems to be a very 
mischievous boy.” 

“What can I wear to the party, Mumsey?” 
Chicken Little wished to change the subject. 

“I think you may wear your blue poplin and the 


262 


Chicken Little Jane 


white shoes if it’s a nice day. But you must be a 
little lady and not romp — the poplin won’t wash, you 
know.” 

“Couldn’t I wear a white dress? — they almost 
always play rompy games at May’s.” 

“My dear, it is high time for you to learn to take 
care of your clothes and Mother knows best what 
little girls should wear.” 

Chicken Little puckered up her mouth rebelliously 
but Pete walked in the door at this moment calling 
“Chicken Little” so plaintively that she had to pick 
him up and comfort him. She took him out in the 
yard and relieved her mind to him. 

“Pete, if I ever have any little girls, I’m always 
going to let them wear exactly what they please — 
and I’m never going to tell them to be little ladies. 
Anyhow I guess I can wear my white shoes and 
there haven’t any of the other girls got any yet.” 

Pete eyed her in silence. 

“I shall take my Christmas dolly — she’s the pret- 
tiest.” 

Pete cocked his head on one side and began to 
climb up in her lap. He had caught sight of Ernest 
and Carol coming in the front gate, and the boys 
often teased him. 

As they came near he cuddled up close against 
Jane, calling vigorously, “Scat! — Go off and 
die!” 


Cousin May’s Party 263 

The boys laughed and Ernest held out his slate 
pencil which the parrot nipped fiercely. 

On the afternoon of the party Katy and Gertie 
came by for Chicken Little. They were crisp and 
dainty as usual in ruffled white dresses with blue and 
pink sashes and hair ribbons. Chicken Little looked 
from them to her own silken finery regretfully. 

Katy began by cheering her the wrong way. 

“My, you’ll have to be awful careful with your 
dress, Jane. I guess it would spoil it if you dropped 
ice-cream on it.” 

“I’m glad white will wash,” added Gertie com- 
placently, smoothing down her ruffles. 

Chicken Little hugged her doll tighter and ignored 
these remarks. 

“I’m glad it didn’t rain today ’cause Mother 
wouldn’t have let me wear my white shoes if it had.” 

“It rained hard enough last night — you’ll have to 
watch out for puddles. Father said everything was 
soaked this morning,” replied Katy. 

“It’s dried awful fast — May’s going to have the 
party on the lawn. Her mother’s set a table out 
under the trees,” said Gertie. 

“Yes, and she’s going to have a prize for the 
prettiest doll. We’re each to write a name on a 
piece of paper and put it in a hat and then they’ll 
count them and give it to the doll that has the most.” 

“Mother made a new dress for Minnie and 


264 Chicken Little Jane 

painted her cheeks where I washed the pink off, but 
I don’t s’pose she’ll get the prize — she’s so old. 
Maybe your Victoria will, she has such pretty blue 
eyes.” 

Chicken Little looked down at Victoria’s blue eyes 
and yellow curls appraisingly. 

“Marian says she thinks Victoria is one of the 
prettiest dolls she’s ever seen.” 

“She is pretty but I don’t think her dress is near 
as pretty as Grace Dart’s. Her doll’s got the love- 
liest pink silk and a hat and parasol to match. It’s 
a — what do you s’pose those boys are laughing at?” 

Katy broke off her sentence to ask hastily, pointing 
across the street. 

Two boys stood there chuckling, apparently star- 
ing straight at the little girls. 

The three little girls stopped for an instant indig- 
nant. 

“Oh, come on,” said Chicken Little, “it’s the 
Howard twins and they’re awful mean. Just pre- 
tend we don’t see them.” 

But the boys had started toward them. 

The little girls had half a mind to run when one 
of the boys called: “Where did you get your body- 
guard?” 

They looked hastily behind them — there was no 
one in sight. 

Katy was provoked. 


Cousin May’s Party 265 

“You think you’re awful smart, don’t you?” she 
called back. 

The boys were shaking with laughter and were 
now half-way across the street. The larger one 
began chanting: “Mary had a little lamb,” and the 
other added quickly: “His fleece was green as 
grass ” 

The children stopped and looked around again. 
This time Gertie spied a small green body hovering 
close to Jane’s white shoes. 

“Poor Pete,” it remarked plaintively. 

“Why Pete — you naughty bird — how did you 
come to follow me? What can I do? Get down, 
Pete — you’ll spoil my dress.” 

Pete was trying to climb Jane’s skirts. He did not 
like the looks of the strange boys. 

“Dear me, we’ll have to take him back home,” 
said Gertie. 

“We’ll take him for you. Can he talk?” 

Before Chicken Little could reply something 
leaped into the midst of the little group and Pete 
gave a heart-rending squawk. The children jumped 
and screamed but before they fairly understood what 
had happened, Pete and a big gray cat were in 
mortal combat. Fur and feathers flew for several 
awful seconds accompanied by wails from the little 
girls and shouts from the boys who wanted to save 
the parrot but hated to spoil the fight. 


Chicken Little Jane 


266 

The Howard boys made one or two ineffectual 
efforts to grab Pete getting nips and scratches for 
their pains. Chicken Little, terrified for Pete’s life, 
tried to seize the cat and received a vicious scratch 
on the arm. The others pulled her away. 

A crowd was quickly gathering. Rescue came 
opportunely in the shape of Pat Casey who had the 
good sense to arm himself with a stick. A few smart 
blows loosened the cat’s grip and it slunk away. 
Pete, much disheveled and shorn of some of his gay- 
est feathers, stood blinking dazedly for a minute. 
Then, catching sight of Chicken Little, he hopped 
feebly toward her, croaking hoarsely: “Bust my 
buttons.” 

The children set up a shout. 

“I guess the cat pretty nearly did bust ’em,” re- 
marked Pat laughing. 

Poor Pete was cuddled and fussed over to his 
heart’s content. Pat offered to take him home for 
Chicken Little, and after much coaxing and scolding, 
Pete finally consented to hop on Pat’s arm and per- 
mit himself to be carried homeward. 

The little girls went on to the party pink with 
excitement. They could hardly wait to tell of Pete’s 
adventure. Everybody wished they had brought the 
parrot with them. However, the doll contest soon 
absorbed their attention. 

Chicken Little’s Victoria proved a great favorite, 


Cousin May’s Party 267 

but Grace Dart’s Stella was beautiful to see in her 
rose pink silk. The children Oh-ed and Ah-ed over 
her hat and parasol. 

Generous little Gertie worked hard for Victoria 
even going so far as to tell the children that Victoria 
was such a good doll — she most never cried. Katy 
was inclined to favor Stella. More than one little 
girl loyally voted for her own child. Others offered 
to vote for their friends’ dolls if they in turn would 
vote for theirs. 

The dolls were examined and compared most 
critically. Many of the little mothers took the mat- 
ter very much to heart and resented any criticism. 
Gertie picked her Minnie up and cuddled her ten- 
derly after a thoughtless child had hurt dolly’s feel- 
ings by exclaiming, “What a homely doll I” 

Chicken Little’s eyes shone as she saw the many 
admiring glances Victoria received. She naively 
showed her off, putting her to sleep and waking her 
up to display her blue eyes and long fringed lashes 
or making her cry “Mamma” when the other chil- 
dren asked to hold her. She looked at Stella a little 
enviously. It would be so nice to have Victoria get 
the prize. Jane had never had a prize except once 
in Sunday School for learning the most Scripture 
texts. May Halford was displaying the mysterious 
box wrapped in white paper that contained it and 
everyone was eager to know what it was. 


268 Chicken Little Jane 

Many were the guesses. Several children felt the 
box, but May kept the secret. Chicken Little looked 
at it longingly. It might be a hat and parasol like 
Stella’s — it might be a silk dress. She wished she 
knew. 

When the little white slips of paper were finally 
passed around each little girl was asked to write the 
name of the doll she admired most and fold it up 
so no one could see. Jane looked sober. She was 
tempted to do something she felt would not be quite 
nice. She had firmly resolved to vote for Gertie’s 
doll because Gertie had been so sweet about Victoria, 
but suppose Victoria needed just one more vote to 
get the prize. Chicken Little bit the end of her pen- 
cil and thought hard. She looked at Gertie holding 
Minnie close with a wistful look in her eyes. Gertie 
would be sorely disappointed if Minnie didn’t get a 
single vote. Then she looked at Grace Dart, who 
was already putting on airs, and hardened her heart. 

She moistened her pencil and wrote a big V, then 
paused and looked at Gertie again. Gertie was writ- 
ing Victoria she could tell by the way she made the 
V. Jane closed her lips firmly. 

“I guess I won’t be mean if she doesn’t get the 
prize,” she said to herself. 

She wrote Minnie very plainly, folded it up 
quickly and dropped it in the hat lest she should 
change her mind. 


Cousin May’s Party 269 

Stella got the prize by one vote. Chicken Little 
held her head high and had her reward. The little 
girls who had voted for Victoria crowded round her 
in wrath. 

“She’s ever so much prettier than Grace’s doll! 
It’s just her clothes made them vote for her.” 

“Yes, May’s mother said your doll was the pret- 
tiest.” 

‘T don’t think it was fair to vote for the clothes. 
Mrs. Halford said the prettiest doll!” 

These remarks were very consoling but did not 
comfort her as much as Gertie’s words: 

“I’m so sorry Vic didn’t get it, Jane. If you 
hadn’t voted for Minnie it would have been a tie.” 

“How do you know I voted for Minnie?” de- 
manded Chicken Little. 

“Oh, just ’cause and I’m real glad. I didn’t 
expect Minnie to get it, but I’d felt awful bad if she 
hadn’t had a single vote.” 

The prize proved to be a most tempting one, a 
tiny brush and comb and cunning hand glass in a 
little satin-lined box. Chicken Little sighed in spite 
of herself. 

The arrival of the milkman created a diversion. 
Mr. Akers was a jolly soul and most of the children 
knew him. The jingle of his bell sent them all 
rushing to the gate to show their dolls. Mr. Akers 
greeted them heartily. 


270 Chicken Little Jane 

“Well, I declare this is about the gayest flock of 
birds I’ve seen for some time. A party? Well, I’m 
sorry I wasn’t asked.” 

It took them some time to make him understand 
about the doll prize. He was called upon to inspect 
each doll first, then the two rivals were held up for 
his opinion. 

Mr. Akers took his time. He took off his spec- 
tacles, polished them carefully on his sleeve, and 
made a second critical survey. 

“You want me to tell you which is the purtiest, 
eh? Well, now they’re both purty. I don’t know 
as I ever saw handsomer dolls — or better behaved,” 
he added, with a twinkle in his eye. “But if you 
really want my honest opinion I believe I like this 
one’s face the best,” pointing to Victoria, “though 
the other one there has a leetle the gayest clothes. 
The dressy one got the prize you say. Now it seems 
like they both ought to have a prize.” 

Mr. Akers fished a handful of coins out of his 
pocket and selecting a brand new dime which shone 
brightly among its dingier companions, presented it 
to Victoria with a flourish. 

The children were delighted and Chicken Little 
started home comforted to tell the family that May’s 
mother and Mr. Akers thought Victoria was the 
prettiest anyway. 

The walk home proved almost as disastrous as the 


Cousin May’s Party 271 

walk to the party. The streets seemed entirely dry 
by this time and the three little girls, chattering gaily 
about their good time, forgot to notice where they 
were going. 

Just before they turned into Front Street they 
passed a yard where men had been digging a well. 
A quantity of the yellow clay had been carelessly 
tossed over the fence upon the sidewalk to be hauled 
away. This, alas, had been thoroughly soaked by 
the previous night’s rain and when Chicken Little 
stepped upon it with her cherished white shoes, her 
small feet sank in up to her ankles. The white kid 
was sadly stained. Katy and Gertie did their best 
to help her get it off, but the white shoes were des- 
tined never to be white again. Mrs. Morton gave 
them a new lease of life by having them bronzed a 
few days later. 

Chicken Little long remembered the day of the 
doll party. It would seem that Pete did also, for he 
never attempted to follow Chicken Little outside the 
yard again. 



QJAPTER.- XVIII 


THE - THIIDREN • GO 
^ EXPIRING 


One hot day soon after the party Dr. Morton 
handed his wife a letter from Alice. 

Mrs. Morton glanced through it while Olga 
cleared the table for the dessert. 

“Poor Alice — she is worried because Mr. Hard- 
ing can’t find either letters or papers to prove her 
claim to the bank stock. It does seem strange that 
all the letters from Mr. Gassett to her father should 
have completely disappeared.” 

“Well,” said Dr. Morton drily, “if you want to 
know my opinion, I believe that Gassett got hold of 
them some way and destroyed them.” 

“It doesn’t seem possible he would do anything 
so dishonest though I don’t like the man — he was so 
very rude the day he came here. Alice wonders if it 
could be possible there are any of her father’s papers 
272 


The Children Go Exploring 273 

hidden away under the roof. You remember almost 
all of the closets run off under the roof. It is a 
wonder we don’t have rats with them all open that 
way.” 

“It would be an unpleasant task to explore. I 
suppose there’s twenty years of dust and cobwebs 
stored up in those nooks and crannies. There are 
places where the roof slopes to form the gables 
where a man could hardly crawl through. I sup- 
pose I might hire some boy to go through and see 
if he can find anything.” 

Ernest and Chicken Little had been interested 
listeners to this conversation. 

“Say, Father, let me and the boys explore. We 
could put on some old clothes — it would be loads of 
fun.” 

“That might not be a bad idea. You couldn’t 
come to any harm other than a few scratches and 
splinters. I don’t believe you will find anything, but 
Alice will be satisfied at any rate.” 

“Can’t I go, too?” demanded Chicken Little. 

“Oh, dear no,” her mother replied, “it would be 
horribly dirty and cobwebby — no place for little 
ladies to climb round in.” 

Jane looked disappointed. 

“Why not let the child go, Mother? Put an old 
dress on her and tie up her hair. She’d enjoy the 
fun as much as the boys.” 


Chicken Little Jane 


274 

“Oh, well, there is that old blue calico in the 
rag bag you could slip on, I suppose.” 

“Goody, goody!” Chicken Little didn’t wait to 
hear the subject discussed further lest her mother 
should change her mind. She started off to don the 
dress immediately. 

Ernest ran over to get Sherm and Carol. 

The boys were eager for the hunt. 

“You mustn’t take matches in there. You might 
drop one and set the house afire. You can use the 
little lantern — that will be safe. Be careful you 
don’t come through the plastering — there must be 
some sort of an open space over the central part of 
the house though I don’t know where there’s any 
way to reach it. It will be stone dark if there is — 
there are no outside windows.” 

While the exploring party was trying to decide 
whether to start in with the front room closet or 
begin with the one in the maid’s room at the back 
of the house, Katy and Gertie appeared on the 
scene. They promptly begged to go, too. 

“Well, ask your mother and get some old clothes 
on,” Mrs. Morton consented finally after Chicken 
Little had teased for several minutes. 

They were off and back in no time, arrayed in out- 
grown dresses that gave them the appearance of 
being all arms and legs. 

“Mother said she wished she could come, too. 


The Children Go Exploring 275 

She said it would be almost as much fun as ex- 
ploring a desert island,” reported Katy. 

It was finally agreed to try the front room closet 
first. This closet was a lofty, roomy looking affair 
for about six feet, then as the roof slanted sharply 
downward, faded away into darkness. It was floored 
and ceiled to within three feet of the point where 
roof and floor met, and it was only by getting down 
on hands and knees that the children could crawl, 
through the aperture left unboarded, into the nar- 
row, unused spaces next the eaves. 

Sherm and Ernest made the first venture, but their 
progress was soon cut off short by a partition. So 
they wriggled back adorned with cobwebs and sneez- 
ing from the dust they had stirred up. 

“Let’s try the closet in Chicken Little’s room next 
— that’s one of the biggest.” 

This time Carol and Katy did the scouting with 
the same results except that they found an open space 
between the roof and the uprights and lath and 
plaster of the partition, which seemed to lead up to 
some sort of an attic over the main part of the 
house. 

Carol hoisted Katy up on his shoulders to see if 
she could see anything but she lacked about a foot 
of reaching the top of the partition. Carol whistled 
to Ernest to come, but at this moment a voice called 
up from the foot of the stairs, “Ship ahoy!” 


Chicken Little Jane 


276 

“It's Dick Harding, I do believe!” exclaimed 
Chicken Little, and she flew down to investigate, 
closely followed by Gertie. 

It was Dick Harding, resplendent in blue overalls 
and an old cap. 

“I met your father down street and he told me 
what the clan was up to. This is a business I am 
mightily interested in, so I asked if I might come, 
too. How do you like my regimentals?” 

Mr. Harding surveyed his blue overalls proudly. 
He followed the little girls upstairs and listened to 
Ernest’s report of their progress. 

“Suppose you and I try that. I am taller than 
Carol and I think I could boost you high enough to 
get a look round. Got a light?” 

They called to Carol and Katy to come out. 
Carol was quite ready to yield the place of honor. 

“Gee, it’s hot and stuffy in there!” he groaned, 
fanning himself with an old shoe he had picked up 
from the floor of the closet. 

“You’re so awful fat, Carol. I didn’t mind it,” 
said Katy frankly. 

“Fat nothing — a shadow would smother in there. 
Your face looks red where it ain’t black, which is 
pretty much all over,” retorted Carol nettled. He 
didn’t enjoy being called fat. 

Dick Harding followed Ernest in. There was 
just about room enough for him to get to his feet. 


The Children Go Exploring 277 

He gave Ernest a lift to his shoulder. This brought 
the boy’s eyes about five inches above the partition. 
Ernest waved the tiny lantern about distractedly in 
an effort to pierce the gloom about him. 

“Hold the lantern still and just look. Your eyes 
will grow accustomed to the dimness pretty soon 
and then you can see if there’s anything there.” 

Ernest obeyed and in a few moments was able to 
see across to the slanting roof opposite. 

“Not a thing but rafters and cobwebs,” he re- 
ported at last in disgust. 

“Shift your lantern and look again carefully — we 
don’t want to miss anything. You don’t see any old 
boxes or piles of papers do you?” 

“Nope.” 

“Nothing that looks like a bundle of old letters? 
Take the lantern in the other hand and hold it out 
as far as you can.” 

“Not a blamed thing but a piece of old board and 
it’s sticking up so there’s nothing under it.” 

“Well, I really didn’t suppose there would be. It 
would be too difficult a place to reach, but I wanted 
to be sure,” returned Dick. “How many more 
closets are there?” 

“Three.” 

“It’s my turn next — and Gertie’s!” declared 
Chicken Little. 

“All right, crawl along. Perhaps you won’t 


Chicken Little Jane 


278 

mind it if I follow, too,” Dick replied, smiling. 

They took Ernest’s room next. Chicken Little 
slid past the coats and trousers and much accumu- 
lated junk which untidy Ernest had piled in on the 
closet floor. She knocked over a baseball bat in 
her haste and disappeared in under the eaves so 
promptly that Gertie felt quite deserted and de- 
cided she didn’t want to go into that nasty dark 
place. 

It was all Dick could do to follow. In fact he 
was afraid he was going to stick, the passage was so 
narrow. His overalls were run through with slivers 
from the rough boards. Fortunately, only one pene- 
trated his skin. 

Chicken Little cheered him on by calling back. 

“I’ve found some newspapers. Hurry up with 
the lantern.” 

It was a triangular space made by the gable. 
Chicken Little couldn’t quite stand up and Dick 
could get no further than his knees. A big pile of 
dusty newspapers lay on the rafters. They had 
apparently been shoved carelessly in. 

“Let’s get them out to the light. I’ll back out and 
you pass them through to me.” 

Jane did as she was bid, handing out a few at a 
time but just as she lifted the last layer, gave a 
squeal. 

“There’s something alive here !” 


The Children Go Exploring 279 

Dick started in again. 

“Look out, Jane, it might be a house snake, though 
I didn’t know we ever had them here.” 

“ ’Tisn’t any snake — it’s a mouse nest. There are 
four baby mice — I can feel them. I’m going to put 
them in my pocket.” 

The children were so excited over the mice that 
they left the papers to Dick Harding. 

He carried them to the window and ran through 
them hastily. 

“Pshaw, nothing but old newspapers — wartime 
papers most of them, with long lists of men killed 
and wounded. Ugh — they certainly are grue- 
some !” 

Dick dropped the pile and turned to have a look 
at the mice. 

“Say,” he added a moment later, staring at the 
minute heap of paper and its tiny occupants which 
Chicken Little had deposited on a chair, “there’s 
writing on some of those scraps! They aren’t all 
newspapers. Are you sure you found everything 
there was, Chicken Little?” 

Jane wasn’t sure, so Sherm took the lantern and 
went back to look. He found nothing, however, 
except a few scraps of paper. 

In the meantime Dick Harding was running over 
the newspapers more carefully, taking them one at a 
time to see if any letters or documents could have 


28 o 


Chicken Little Jane 


been tucked away among them. He straightened up 
with a sigh of disappointment as he finished. 

“Another fond hope blasted,” he complained. “I 
never loved a bug or flower but what ’twas first to 
fade away.” 

The children looked at him in astonishment. 

“No,” he replied to their look of inquiry. “I’m 
not crazed with the heat, but I was just dead sure 
we should find something. Let’s tackle the other 
two closets.” 

The exploring party moved on and made a thor- 
ough search of the other closet ends, and the open 
spaces under the eaves, but without result. One 
empty and extremely dirty pasteboard box was all 
they got for their pains. 

“There’s no other place about the house where 
anything could be hidden, is there?” asked Dick 
Harding of Mrs. Morton. 

“I have never heard of any secret cupboards, Mr. 
Harding. The people who lived here before we 
bought the house might have found letters and de- 
stroyed them. But Alice said her mother, at the 
time of her father’s death, searched every place 
where business letters or papers could possibly be 
concealed.” 

“Well, I suppose I’ll have to give up,” said Dick. 
“The worst of it is I’m afraid Alice can’t hold the 
stock without further evidence.” 


The Children Go Exploring 281 

“I am glad Alice has her Uncle Joseph to protect 
her,” said Mrs. Morton. “But what black faces and 
hands, children! Go wash up immediately.” 

The party did seem a little the worse for wear. 
It was a warm day and trickles of perspiration had 
mingled with the dust till their faces resembled a 
cross-roads map. 

Dick Harding looked from one grimy face to an- 
other with a twinkle in his eye. 

“Suppose we all clean up and go downtown to 
get some ice-cream. I’ll stand treat. Won’t you 
come, too, Mrs. Morton?” 

“I don’t think I care to risk the walk in the sun. 
I fear it will take some time to make these children 
presentable.” 

Dick pulled out his watch. “Perhaps they might 
meet me at the ice-cream parlor at four. I certainly 
need to freshen up myself.” 

It was so arranged and there was a prompt scat- 
tering homeward to get ready. An hour later, shiny 
from much soap and water, and very stiff and starchy 
as to waists and dresses, they flocked around Dick 
Harding. 

“I can eat two saucers of cream and three pieces 
of cake and I’m sure I can depend upon you boys 
to do as well. We’ll limit the ladies to one saucer 
and two pieces of cake because they are supposed 
to be delicate. Is that right, Chicken Little?” 


282 


Chicken Little Jane 


Dick joked and the children stowed away the dain- 
ties industriously. In the midst of the feast an idea 
struck Gertie. 

“What became of the baby mice?” 

Sure enough what had become of them? Nobody 
seemed to know. 

“I guess we just left them up on the chair in the 
bedroom,” said Ernest. 

“They weren’t big enough to run away,” observed 
Carol. 

“Oh, dear, I hope nothing will hurt them — they 
were so cunning,” mourned Chicken Little. She 
hunted them up the minute she got home. The tiny 
heap of paper was where they had left it, but the 
mice were gone. Olga and Mrs. Morton denied 
having seen them. 

Ernest and Jane hunted the room over, but the 
mice had disappeared. 

When they fed Pete that night he seemed droopy 
and turned up his nose at his best beloved dainties. 

“Has Pete been loose today?” asked Dr. Mor- 
ton. 

“Yes, but I don’t think he went out of the front 
room upstairs,” replied Mrs. Morton. 

“Well, I’d be willing to wager Pete knows what 
became of the baby mice,” laughed the doctor. 
“Trim him up with flowers, Chicken, and he’ll make 
a nice green grave for the dear departed.” 


The Children Go Exploring 283 

A few days later Jane and Gertie were playing 
paper dolls in one of the window recesses upstairs 
and remembering the mice decided to have a doll 
funeral. But a funeral required mourning and they 
couldn’t find a scrap of black paper. While they 
were rummaging, they came across their find of old 
newspapers, which Mrs. Morton had stacked up on 
a table till Dr. Morton found time to look them 
over. Jane noticed that some of them had heavy 
black bands across the front page. 

“Say, they’d be fine — we could paste them close 
together on white paper for the dresses and veils.” 

She started off to ask her mother’s permission to 
use them. 

“Why, I don’t know whether your father wants 
any of them or not. He spoke as if he would like 
to save a few — you might take the ones the mice 
nibbled.” 

There were four or five of these and the children 
were soon busily engaged in cutting out the black 
strips. When Gertie unfolded the last one two let- 
ters fell out. 

Jane pounced upon them with a shriek. “Oh, 
Gertie, do you s’pose?” 

“Maybe they are — let’s take them to your mother 
quick!” 

The little girls pattered downstairs to Mrs. 
Morton, thrilled with excitement. 


Chicken Little Jane 


284 

“Don’t get so excited, children. Little ladies 
should learn to compose themselves.” 

She slowly put on her spectacles and deliberately 
examined the envelopes. 

“They do seem to be addressed to Mr. Fletcher, 
but there isn’t one chance in a hundred they are of 
any value. However, I’ll turn them over to Mr. 
Harding.” 

“Oh, Mother, see what’s inside, quick!” 

“My dear little daughter, I have no right to read 
other people’s letters. Mr. Harding is Alice’s law- 
yer and it is his place not mine to examine these. 
You little girls may get your hats and take them 
down to Mr. Harding’s office. I think I can trust 
you not to drop them.” 

The children surprised Dick Harding by rushing 
in waving the letters breathlessly. They had run 
about half the way in their zeal. He was a more 
satisfactory listener than Mrs. Morton — he was ex- 
cited, too. It took him about four minutes to run 
through the letters, Chicken Little and Gertie ex- 
plaining how they came to find them while he 
read. 

The first letter he dropped impatiently, muttering, 
“No good.” After a glance at the signature of the 
second he said “Ah” softly. 

When he had finished it, he jumped up and seiz- 
ing Chicken Little with one hand and Gertie by the 


The Children Go Exploring 285 

other, spun them round the room so fast he made 
their heads swim. 

“Blessed be paper dolls and little girls! One 
sentence in that letter will do the work or I am no 
lawyer ! Go home and look through the other papers 
and see if you can find any more, though I don’t be- 
lieve we need them.” 



XIX 

things • happen 

If there had been any person left to get married, 
Chicken Little would have been sure the family 
was preparing for another wedding during the 
next few weeks. Her father and mother had their 
heads together over something most of the time. 
Once she found her mother crying and she seemed 
grave and worried. 

“I wish people weren’t always having secrets,’* 
Jane complained to Ernest. 

“It won’t be a secret very long, Sis. They’ll tell 
you as soon as they really truly decide.” 

“Decide what? — tell me, Ernest.” 

“I can’t because father and mother don’t want it 
talked about, if they don’t go.” 

“Go where? Ernest, tell me. You’re just as 
mean as you can be — I always tell you things.” 

286 



Things Happen 287 

“Well, I know mother is going to give in because 
father’s dead set on going. Cross your heart that 
you won’t tell a living soul till mother tells you.” 

Chicken Little crossed her heart emphatically. 
Ernest was quite as eager to tell as she was to hear 
and soon poured out his tale. 

“Maybe we’re going to Kansas with Frank and 
Marian to live on the ranch. I hope we’ll go. 
Father says I can have a horse and there’s lots of 
hunting, quail and prairie chicken and plover — and 
a man killed some antelope about sixteen miles west 
of the ranch last winter. There are a few deer left, 
too, on the creek, father says. Oh, I’m wild to go, 
but mother doesn’t want to a bit.” 

Chicken Little was dazed for a moment. 

“Would we stay there always? Wouldn’t I ever 
see Katy and Gertie and Dick Harding again? Why 
doesn’t mother want to go?” 

“Goosie, you could come back here to visit. 
Father told mother she should come back at the end 
of a year. And maybe you could have a pony. I 
wouldn’t mind your riding mine sometimes when I 
don’t want him, after you learn how to ride. We’d 
be a whole day and night on the train. Wouldn’t 
that be jolly?” 

“Oh, could I sleep in one of the little beds?” 

“Of course, I told you we’d be all night on the 
train.” 


288 


Chicken Little Jane 


“Why doesn’t mother want to go?” 

“She doesn’t want to leave her friends and she 
doesn’t want to live way off on a farm where there 
isn’t any church close by and only a country school. 
What do you think, the school house has only one 
room and one teacher? You’d be in the same room 
with me. Father says he’ll have to prepare me for 
college at home. I have to begin Latin next year. 
Gee, I bet father’ll make me study. He thinks if 
you haven’t got a lesson perfect, you haven’t got it 
at all.” 

Ernest was standing by the open window idly play- 
ing with the lace strap that looped the curtain 
back. 

“Say, there’s Frank and Marian coming in with 
father now. I wonder what’s up. Bet they’re going 
to settle the whole business right away.” 

The children listened until they heard the others 
go into the sitting room and carefully close the door 
behind them — hot weather as it was. 

Ernest laughed when the door clicked. 

“Family council — children and dogs and neigh- 
bors please keep out. They’ll talk till dinner time. 
I’m going over to see Sherm.” 

Jane waited round a while expectantly, studying 
over the wonderful possibility of moving but finally 
got tired and went to Halford’s. 

When she came home to dinner the sitting-room 


Things Happen 289 

door was still closed and a steady murmur of voices 
could be heard. 

Olga rang the bell for dinner twice before that 
closed door was opened. 

Chicken Little eyed them curiously as they filed 
out. Her father looked eager and excited, but her 
mother’s eyes were red as if she had been crying 
again. 

Dr. Morton put his arm around Chicken Little as 
she passed her and drew her tenderly to him. 

“How would you like to go and live on a farm, 
Humbug, where you could have chickens and calves 
and ponies to play with? It would put more color 
into your face I’ll be bound.” 

“Could I have a pony, Father, all my own?” 

Dr. Morton nodded. 

“Gee, wouldn’t that be fun?” 

“Jane,” said Mrs. Morton severely, “how often 
have I told you that little ladies do not use 
slang? 

“You seem to be planning to let the children run 
wild when they get out to Kansas,” she added, turn- 
ing to Dr. Morton, “but I will have them use cor- 
rect English.” 

It did not take the news that the Mortons were 
moving to Kansas, long to spread in the small town. 
Visitors flocked in to sympathize with Mrs. Morton 
over going to a new country, and Dr. Morton’s 


Chicken Little Jane 


290 

friends and patients stopped him on the street to ex- 
press their regret at losing him. 

There were still many things to be arranged be- 
fore they could set a date for their departure. Their 
chief concern was the home. Frank had been fortu- 
nate enough to sell his pretty cottage, but the old- 
fashioned gabled house with its wistaria vines and 
terraced lawns, was not so easy to dispose of. Dr. 
Morton hoped to rent it for a year or two until he 
could sell it. He was most anxious that they should 
all accompany Frank and Marian to the new home in 
September. 

One afternoon as Chicken Little was coming leis- 
urely up the walk with Katy and Gertie, Mrs. Mor- 
ton called from the window : 

“Hurry up, Chickabiddy, there is somebody here 
you would like to see.” 

The little girls started to run, guessing eagerly 
as to who the visitor might be. 

As Chicken Little crossed the threshold the mys- 
terious someone pounced upon her and lifted her up 
bodily from the floor, exclaiming: 

“Oh, Chicken Little, I’ve been homesick to see you 
in spite of the kitty! . Dear me, how you have 
grown l” 

It was Alice, laughing and crying and hugging her 
all in one instant. Katy and Gertie came in for their 
share, too. Then they must all go into the parlor 


Things Happen 291 

to meet Uncle Joseph, for he had come all the way 
from Cincinnati with Alice. 

Jane edged rather shyly up to the dignified, gray- 
haired man who was talking to her mother. She 
hadn’t forgotten the evening when she had written 
to him in fear and trembling beside the very window 
where he was sitting now. But Uncle Joseph rose 
to meet her with a broad smile making little kindly 
wrinkles around his eyes. 

“So this is Chicken Little Jane,” he said, taking 
both her hands and looking down into her wonder- 
ing brown eyes. “Well, Chicken Little, I believe I 
should have known you anywhere. You look so ex- 
actly like yourself, big eyes and all.” 

Uncle Joseph laughed at her mystified expression. 

Alice came to the rescue. 

“He means you look like my description of you, 
dear. I shall take great credit to myself.” 

“You needn’t,” said Uncle Joseph, “for that’s only 
partly what I mean. She looks like what she does. 
What do you make of that?” he demanded, turning 
suddenly to Katy, who was regarding him with open- 
eyed curiosity. 

Katy was startled but her keen wits hit the nail 
on the head promptly. 

“I guess you mean she looks like she’d do any- 
thing she thought she ought to and you couldn’t make 
her if she didn’t want to.” 


Chicken Little Jane 


292 

“Good for you, child, that’s just what I do mean 
— and it is a very valuable trait of character, little 
girls. Chicken Little, I was much obliged to you for 
showing me what I ought to do last winter.” 

He drew her to him with an affectionate pat. 

“And I am grateful to you for so many things, 
Jane. I shall never be able to half thank you, dear.” 
And Alice came over to give her another hug. 

“Don’t praise the child so much, you’ll spoil her,” 
objected Mrs. Morton. 

“I can’t help it, Mrs. Morton — she and Mr. 
Harding have given me Uncle Joseph and now it 
looks as if the letter she took to Mr. Harding, might 
give me back my father’s property and this old 
home.” 

“I am in hopes that may help you and Dr. Mor- 
ton, Madam,” said Uncle Joseph gravely. “Mr. 
Harding tells us Dr. Morton is anxious to sell the 
place, and if Mr. Gassett makes the settlement we 
hope for, he will simply pay back the purchase money 
to Dr. Morton because the place was never his to 
sell. He has arranged to meet us to-morrow morn- 
ing. 

It was several years later before Jane was old 
enough to understand exactly how the letter she and 
Gertie had carried to Dick Harding could work all 
the wonders it seemed to be responsible for. 

Mrs. Morton said it was the work of Providence 


Things Happen 293 

that this special letter was preserved and found at 
just the right time. Uncle Joseph declared that 
Alice’s asking them to hunt through the old closets 
had more to do with it than Providence. But Dick 
Harding said it wasn’t Providence at all — it was 
paper dolls and Chicken Little Jane. 

“At any rate,” he said, “I never heard of Provi- 
dence making a man turn green, and Gassett cer- 
tainly did when I showed him his own writing and 
read him about two paragraphs of it. There it was 
in black and white that the mortgage on the house 
had been paid in full, and that the bank had just 
returned Mr. Fletcher’s stock certificates deposited 
with them to secure a firm debt. The letter was 
jubilant over the business success that had enabled 
Fletcher and Gassett to pay up, and Mr. Gassett de- 
clared he was grateful beyond measure to Alice’s 
father for risking his bank stock for the firm credit. 
Nice way he took to show his gratitude, wasn’t it?” 
Dick Harding looked the disgust he could not ex- 
press. 

Uncle Joseph had been telling the Mortons what 
happened when Mr. Gassett met them in Mr. Hard- 
ing’s office. 

“Did he show any signs of fight at the start?” in- 
quired Dr. Morton. 

“Oh, he tried to bluster for a moment,” replied 
Dick, “but I asked him ‘Do we go on with this case 


294 Chicken Little Jane 

in court, Mr. Gassett, or do we not? Yes, or no?’ 
‘No,’ said Mr. Gassett, so we got down to business.” 

“He was willing to do anything to hush the mat- 
ter up,” added Uncle Joseph. “It took exactly ten 
minutes to hand over a check for the money 
Dr. Morton paid him for the house, and to give 
Alice a paper resigning all claim to the bank stock. 
I have an idea the old rascal was afraid we might 
discover something else he had stolen.” 

“The Gassetts are going away I understand,” 
said Dr. Morton. “Well, it’s a lucky strike for me 
to get the money back for the house. I am delighted, 
too, that Alice is to have her parent’s home. Do you 
ever expect to come back to live in it, Alice?” 

Alice blushed and Dick Harding looked con- 
fused. 

“I hope to — some day,” she answered softly. 

Uncle Joseph and Alice went back to Cincinnati 
on the fifteenth of August. The next two weeks 
were busy ones in the Morton home. The old 
gabled house was in the dire throes of packing. 

Chicken Little could not remember any previous 
moving and she thoroughly enjoyed the excitement 
despite the fact that her mother looked worried, and 
her father was cross when she got in his way. She 
watched him fill box after box with books, for Dr. 
Morton had a large professional library besides the 
family books which ran into the hundreds. She 


Things Happen 295 

loved to see the crates and barrels swallow up dishes 
and crockery like hungry monsters with wide-open 
jaws. She found even the wrapping of chair legs 
with excelsior, and the crating of bureau and tables, 
interesting. 

“Looks just like they were put in cages,” remarked 
Katy, peering through the slats at a lonesome- 
looking, marble-topped stand. 

Gertie gazed about at the stripped walls and win- 
dows and gave a little shiver. “I don’t like it — it 
looks like you were gone, Chicken Little.” 

The house certainly had a forlorn look and an 
empty ring. Pete sat on his perch grim and curious. 
He seemed to regard the bustle and hammering as a 
personal affront. 

“It seems almost foolish to take Pete along,” Mrs. 
Morton remarked as she passed him one morning. 
“You will have so many pets on the ranch? Why 
don’t you give him to Katy and Gertie?” 

“But, Mother, Pete wouldn’t like it. He’d be 
lonesome without his Chicken Little — wouldn’t you, 
Pete?” 

Pete was not in a good humor. “Go off and die,” 
he croaked morosely. 

The family laughed at Jane’s discomfiture. 

As the time approached for them to go, the talk 
of leaving the parrot behind became more serious. 
It was already apparent that the family would be 


Chicken Little Jane 


296 

overburdened with hand baggage and Pete would 
be difficult to care for on the train. 

Mrs. Morton’s globes of wax flowers and fruit 
were proving a complication. It seemed impossible 
to pack the fragile handiwork and the delicate glass 
shades so there would be any hope of their reaching 
Kansas safely. 

“Confound them,” exclaimed Frank in despera- 
tion, “I wish mother could be persuaded to part with 
the old things. They always did make the cold chills 
go up and down my back. 1 guess I have been cau- 
tioned 499 times by actual count not to run into those 
globes and not to joggle the tables they were on.” 

“But, Frank, the wax flowers and fruit are the 
very apple of your mother’s eye. They were the 
height of fashion ten years ago. She spent days 
and days making and coloring them — they really arc 
exquisitely done,” protested Marian. 

“But they are such a nuisance! Just picture us 
lugging Jane’s parrot and those two huge globes on 
the train in addition to the satchels and lunch boxes. 
We’ll look like a traveling circus.” 

Marian laughed at his wry face. 

“It is awful — but think of your mother. I’ll 
carry one of the globes myself.” 

“Not much you won’t. You will be tired enough 
with the journey without that burden.” 

“I’ll carry the fruit,” volunteered Ernest. “I ex- 


Things Happen 297 

pcct the boys’ll laugh but mother feels bad enough 
about going away anyhow.” 

“Yes, poor mother is giving up a good deal to go 
with us. We must always remember that.” 

“All right, behold me with two satchels in one 
fist, mother’s tower of wax flowers hugged to my 
manly breast with the other hand, while I assist the 
ladies on the train, and clasp my friends’ fists in fond 
farewell with a third. But what of Chicken Little’s 
parrot?” 

“I could carry Pete,” said Chicken Little. 

“Not unless we left his cage behind, Chick, but 
don’t worry your head. We will find some way to 
get the family plunder on board.” 

Jane was thoughtful for the remainder of the day. 
She took Pete over to Halford’s that afternoon and 
the children let him hop about from one room to an- 
other. 

Gertie hovered over him a careful slave, but Katy 
enjoyed teasing him and made him ruffle up his feath- 
ers angrily a time or two. 

Chicken Little rescued him, and cuddling him up 
on her shoulder, carried him tenderly home. 

“No, I just couldn’t,” she said to herself. “I am 
sure he’d be homesick.” 


Q1APTER.XX 
OFF • T3 • THE • R^CH 

“Mother, there’s a whole pile of my clothes up here 
you forgot to pack.” Chicken Little’s voice floated 
plaintively down the staircase. 

“No, that is all right, dear. They are things 
you have outgrown and I am going to give them to 
Maggie Casey. Pat is coming for them this morn- 
ing. By the way, if I am not here when he comes, 
just get them for him, will you, please?” 

Pat was late and Mrs. Morton had gone over to 
Marian’s before he arrived. Chicken Little gath- 
ered up the bundle and soberly presented it to him. 
Pat thanked her but lingered cap in hand, shifting 
his weight from one foot to the other uneasily. 

“I am sorry you’re after going away,” he said 
finally, conquering his embarrassment. “You’ll be 
coming back I hope.” 


298 


Off to the Ranch 


299 

Chicken Little was at a loss for the proper reply. 
She smiled and asked him if he would like to see 
Pete. 

To her surprise the parrot walked over to Pat at 
his first chirrup and climbed up on the hand he held 
out and on up to his shoulder. 

“Why, I never saw Pete do that with a stranger 
before. He must like you.” 

“We got acquainted that day I brought him home. 
Didn’t we, Pete?” Pat stroked his feathers caress- 
ingly and Pete sidled up nearer to his face. 

Jane watched them silently. She was thinking. 

“I just know he’d be good to him,” she said to 
herself. “And Pete likes him and I don’t s’pose 
Pat’s got any pet — but I would miss Pete awfully.” 

“Have you got a cat at your house, Pat?” she 
asked presently. 

“No, mother doesn’t like cats very well.” 

Chicken Little studied about two minutes longer 
then shut her eyes and made the leap. 

“Pat, would you like to have Pete, — for your very 
own?” 

“Cricky, I should say, but you’re not after leaving 
him behind, are you?” 

“I hate to, but mother says I’ll have lots of pets 
anyhow at the ranch and Frank says he’ll be a nuis- 
ance on the train. You’d be awful good to him, 
wouldn’t you, Pat?” 


Chicken Little Jane 


300 

Pat nodded eagerly. 

“He calls me when he’s hungry. You won’t ever 
forget to feed him or let any of the boys tease him?” 

“I’ll take the best care I know and Maggie’d love 
him. She’s always wanted a bird.” 

“I’ll get the cage,” said Chicken Little, turning 
away to hide the tears that would come. 

But they came in spite of her when she gave Pete 
a parting squeeze. 

“He’ll never come to any harm if I can help it,” 
vowed Pat, trying to reassure her, “but I wouldn’t 
be wanting you to give him to me if you feel so 
bad.” 

“Yes, I want to — take him away quick, Pat.” She 
shoved the handle of the cage into Pat’s hand and 
flew upstairs to have her weep in private. 

“It isn’t as much fun going away as I thought it 
would be,” she mourned. 

That afternoon saw the last dray load of boxes 
and furniture taken down to be loaded into the 
freight car. The trunks were all packed and strap- 
ped and placed by the front door ready to be taken 
to the station on the morrow. 

Dr. and Mrs. Morton with Ernest and Jane were 
to spend their last night with the Halfords. Chicken 
Little was to sleep in the trundle bed with Katy and 
Gertie. It was most exciting to see Mrs. Halford 
pull it out from under the big four-poster. It stood 


Off to the Ranch 


301 

about a foot from the floor and was covered with a 
blue and white woven coverlid, which Mrs. Halford 
said her mother had made for her when she was 
married. 

“I like a trundle bed,” said Katy, “because if you 
roll out, you don’t bump so hard.” 

“Katy is such a restless child she falls out of bed 
about once a week,” laughed Mrs. Halford. “She 
sleeps all over Gertie. If she tries to take her third 
on your side just give her a punch, Jane. I am 
sorry I have to crowd you all in together, but I guess 
you little girls will sleep even if you are thick.” 

It seemed doubtful, however, if they would sleep 
themselves or permit anyone else to sleep that night. 
They whispered and tittered far into the night in 
spite of warning hushes from Mrs. Halford and 
sundry raps on the wall from Dr. Morton’s side. 

Neighbors and friends had flocked in that evening 
to say good-by to Dr. and Mrs. Morton. And the 
children, though banished upstairs, had kept tab on 
the gathering below by dashing to the head of the 
stairs, regardless of nighties, every time the bell 
rang. 

When Dick Harding appeared they ducked down 
modestly behind the bannisters and yelled at him. 

“I thought you were coming to the station to- 
morrow,” Chicken Little reproached him. 

“I am, Miss Morton, wild horses couldn’t keep 


Chicken Little Jane 


3 02 

me away, but I wanted to have a little visit with your 
father and mother tonight. I will see you off to- 
morrow.” 

Chicken Little was awake early the next morning 
in spite of their late hours. The child had been wake- 
ful, partly because she was unused to sleeping with 
anyone, partly because the unknown life ahead was 
beginning to oppress her vaguely. 

Katy and Gertie were still sleeping peacefully so 
she wriggled out quietly and dressing herself, slipped 
over into the dear old yard she was so soon to leave 
for good. She took a last swing under the old apple 
trees, digging the tips of her toes into the worn place 
in the sod and listening to the birds in the branches 
overhead. There was a little choke in her throat as 
she stared at the alley fence, and the fence corner by 
the street where the remains of her last play house 
were still strewn about. She didn’t like this new 
feeling, and getting out of the swing, she went over 
among the flower beds to cheer herself up. There 
a riot of autumn blossoms sparkled with dew drops 
in the early morning sunshine. 

“I’ll pick some pansies and mignonette for 
mother,” she said half aloud, “she loves them so.” 

She picked till her hands were full of the purple 
and yellow and white flower faces and the fragrant 
green spikes. Then she laid her cluster down in the 
shade and fell to making morning-glory ladies with 


Off to the Ranch 


303 

larkspur hats to match their gowns. A whistle from 
the fence disturbed her. She looked up and saw Pat 
Casey waving to her. 

u I’ve got something for you.” 

She went to the fence. 

“Hold your skirt,” Pat commanded. She did so 
and Pat dropped in a handful of big yellow 
plums. 

“I’ve got a lot more in my pockets,” he said as she 
started to thank him. 

He had. The pockets appeared to be practically 
bottomless, as Pat hauled out handful after handful 
till the skirt of Jane’s neat little traveling dress be- 
gan to sag dangerously with the weight. 

“They aren’t much,” he said apologetically, “but 
I wanted to bring you something. Pete’s getting 
along fine. Mother likes him — she says he’ll be 
company for Maggie when she’s out washing. And 
Maggie’s that happy you wouldn’t believe it. We’re 
awful obliged.” 

Pat’s desire to bring Chicken Little something 
seemed to be contagious. Grace Dart caught sight 
of them out at the fence and ran over bearing a part- 
ing gift. 

“I want you to have it, Jane. I cracked the mir- 
ror and the lining of the the box is torn a little but 
the rest’s most as good as new. And I truly think 
Victoria is the prettiest.” 


304 Chicken Little Jane 

She thrust the remains of the prize toilet set into 
Chicken Little’s hands with a beaming smile. 

Chicken Little entirely forgot that she didn’t like 
Grace Dart. 

“I’ll write to you soon as we get settled,” she prom- 
ised. 

Ernest came to fetch her to breakfast accompan- 
ied by Carol and Sherm, who had whistled for him 
before he was out of bed. These reinforcements 
soon lightened her load of plums and Grace Dart got 
her a paper bag for the rest. 

Mrs. Halford’s fried chicken and hot biscuit and 
honey were a great bracer. Chicken Little’s teary 
mood slipped away and she revelled in the excite- 
ment of the good-byes. She promised everybody 
weekly letters for the remainder of her natural life. 

“You must write to us the very first ones, Jane,” 
Katy demanded. 

“I see you young ones are fixing to break me up 
buying postage stamps,” remonstrated Dr. Morton, 
trying to tease them. 

“Dear me!” exclaimed Mrs. Morton about an 
hour after breakfast, “has anyone fed Pete. I en- 
tirely forgot him last night and this morning. How 
could I be so careless?” 

“Sure enough, where is Pete?” asked the doctor. 

“He — he isn’t here,” replied Chicken Little. “I 
gave him away.” 


Off to the Ranch 


305 

“That was nice — Katy and Gertie will take good 
care of him I know.” 

“I didn’t give him to Katy and Gertie.” 

“Why — who?” Mrs. Morton looked puzzled. 

“I gave him to Pat — when he came for the 
things.” 

“Well, I declare,” ejaculated Mrs. Morton. 
“You certainly are the queerest child! Well, I sup- 
pose if you wanted to give your pet to a little Irish 
boy instead of to your best friends it’s all right.” 

Katy looked reproachfully at Jane, but Mrs. Hal- 
ford understood. 

“I told you Chicken Little wouldn’t give you Pete 
when you teased him. I am glad you gave him to 
Pat, dear. He is a kind boy and the parrot will 
mean far more to him than to my little spoiled girls.” 

“Here comes the expressman for the trunks,” said 
Dr. Morton. “You had better get your things on, 
Mother, the bus will soon be here.” 

Chicken Little danced up and down as the big 
yellow omnibus backed up to the front gate and Dick 
Harding swung off the top, where he had been sitting 
beside the driver. 

“How many passengers for Kansas?” he de- 
manded. 

“We’re all going as far as the station if there’s 
room,” Mrs. Halford replied. 

It was a merry group that gathered outside the 


Chicken Little Jane 


306 

car window. But tears were close to the smiles, for 
Marian was leaving father and mother and Mrs. 
Morton looked forward with anxiety to the new 
country and the new home. 

Chicken Little felt blissfully important. Dick 
Harding had brought her a box of chocolate creams 
and gum drops to match Pat’s bag of plums. She 
waved one in each hand as the train pulled out. 

“Good-by, Mr. Harding. Good-by, Katy. Good- 
by, Gertie.” 

“Good-by, Chicken Little.” 

The rattle of the car wheels and the shriek of the 
engine drowned out their voices, but Chicken Little 
watched from the window until they were all a blur. 

























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